Calculated Risks
by Lord Onisyr
Summary: An overstressed L finds some solace in a weekend fling with a male artist: an affair revealed years later when Mello and Matt discover an intimate painting of their idol. COMPLETE
1. Prologue

**Calculated Risks**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at multi-chapter Death Note fiction, so there may be a lot of experimenting and figuring things out. Constructive criticism is appreciated. Technically this story is LxOC with mild yaoi, but there is going to be a somewhat complicated plotline to go with it. Just a note, the narrative of this story will jump around between two different time periods, though the whole story will be told

"Calculated Risks" is rated M for adult themes, some sexual content including homosexuality, and strong language. The focus is mostly going to be sensuality and will try to avoid outright smut.

--

_The source of my felicity  
Dark maiden taking hold of my hand  
Lead me away from hibernation  
Strong and unafraid  
Never a question why  
_ "The Night" by Disturbed

**Prologue:**

**April 19, 2009**

**Los Angeles**

The three by five foot piece of thinly stretched canvas was more a container of the scene: a weeping stone cherub, hands clasped in prayer, face in a look of stricken grief as real, wet tears streamed down its stone face as it looked up to Heaven. In the background was a blurred yet clear image of a small wooden coffin covered in lilies.

The full image was clearly done with acrylic paint; black, white, and every tone of gray with that added acrylic texture that almost made the stone look like it was in the painting instead of depicted on the painting. Mello took a creeping step closer to analyze the details, mouth slightly open in a look of calm awe.

Up until three years ago, Mello saw this image every day on the wall of the rank flat in London he squatted in since he left Wammy's House.

The huge studio apartment in the back end of SoHo was officially rented by a junkie with a trust fund named Dudley Morris, who made it a popular hangout and crash site for whatever goth or punk rowdy that bought him a few drinks. Mello was one of at least six who called this place home: Dudley was usually too strung out to care.

The image itself was literally a computer print out from a website that was tacked to the wall across from the water closet. It was a focal point for Mello, a piece of beauty in a rather dingy environment.

His green eyes left the painting for a moment and darted around a few before falling to another acrylic portrayal of a black face contorted with a gaping open mouth and eyes in the midst of Voodoo possession. The woman's large breasts peaked out as half moons from her white dress, a white wrap around her head and outstretched arms almost taking movement on the canvas.

Mello casually reached into a pocket on his tight leather vest, pulling out a foil wrapped chocolate bar, and gently nibbling; letting the sweet ambrosia melt across his tongue.

He took a step back and looked around the room. There were about fifty people in the wide gallery at the Museum of Contemporary Art; many in suits, ties, and skirts, some in some flavor black be it silk shirts, leather trousers, brocade dresses, or whatever struck their fickle fancies.

Uniformed servers carried trays of rather fancy looking hors d'oeuvres and flutes of fine champagne which were all snatched up greedily by the patrons

Everyone here was dripping in money or reputation of some kind; this was an exclusive first-look, invitation-only show opening and everyone there had some kind of pull to be there.

As for Mello, his ticket in was a few "favors" he did for an allied crime boss. The boss' weaselly attorney approached Mello a week later and presented him with two invitations courtesy of the Don, who heard from a few sources the talented new kid in town was into this type of thing.

Mello bit off another piece of chocolate and smiled; this was just one of the perks of the job.

He had been in this gallery for five minutes and was already in a complete zone of happiness by his surroundings; the rich atmosphere, the equally rich people, the eyes running up and down his leather encased form from both genders, and the multitude of dark and gorgeous paintings by one of his favorite artists.

He casually flashed a glance to Matt, who was a few feet away and still pacing around with hands in pockets, half-heartedly looking at his surroundings with a bored expression. He was still regularly tugging the collar of the red silk shirt Mello pretty much made him wear to this occasion.

Striped shirts and fuzzy vests weren't going to cut it at in this more formal atmosphere and Matt was dead set against wearing anything else. This wrinkled shirt from a second hand store was a grudging compromise.

Mello made eye contact with his friend, who walked closer to him.

"Seriously, dude, how long do you really plan on staying here," Matt whispered in an almost pained tone.

"As long as I damn well feel like," Mello replied. "Look around, this is the work of a complete genius; I'm sure you could get a lot out of here."

"Yeah, get a lot out of a big breasted Voodoo lady," Matt said with an eye roll, looking up with the painting Mello had just walked away from. "Come on, man, this is bullshit."

"You're into big boobs, this should be right up your alley," Mello said, putting a corner of the bar in his mouth and letting it melt in his mouth. "Besides, Matt, a little culture's not going to kill you."

Matt rolled his eyes with a grimace that communicated he did not want to be here. He also clearly knew, under the circumstances, he really had no choice in the matter.

Hooking up with his childhood friend in L.A. had snagged Matt a few simple, yet well paying jobs with Mello's Mafia buddies. He had come to the City of fallen Angels severely strapped for cash; a problem remedied by a few phone calls between Mello and a few friends.

In return for the favors, Mello expected Matt to provide some minor services, usually in the way of information gathering, deliveries, or just accompaniment in hostile situations. Mello considered this the latter; he was essentially here representing the firm and did not enjoy the idea of being alone in what could be a trap from someone.

Overall he appreciated the company; Matt was his wingman of sorts here and he did want to share one of his greater interests with his old friend.

As Matt was into video games and electronic gadgets, gothic and dark art was one of Mello's side enthusiasms; he readily admitted a like for pretty things and his closet alone was a testament to that. He had a list of artists and fashion designers he checked up on in local displays and online on a regular basis; most of them underground though a few more commercial.

Ever since seeing the image of the crying cherub on Dudley Morris' wall, Trevor Skye, the star of this show, was high on that list.

The Boston-based Skye was only a gothic artist in the textbook sense; at the root of every one of his pieces was reality presented in its own dark, sometimes surreal beauty. There was nothing over dramatic or too colorful; just black ink, minimal paint, or plain pencils. His works usually focused on one or two subjects whether human, animal, or inanimate object and would devote the rest of his energy on the sheer striking details.

Mello turned his attention across the room to another painting, the first image that brought Skye toward more commercial ventures. The piece was a heavily shadowed silhouette of a man in ragged clothes with a scraggly beard walking down a darkened street; the only things not in shadow were his bulging eyes and upraised bloody knife.

It was the cover of Issue 1 of the graphic novel "Confessions of a Psychopath" Skye illustrated with the writing of New Zealander Stuart Faris. Mello owned all three volumes, one of the few occasions he was willing to buy a book and not just skim it on a shelf. Yes Skye was becoming a bit more commercial, though Mello was a rare gothic art enthusiast who never saw that as being a bad thing; it meant more people were seeing a true talent.

Mello's concentration on the piece's details was suddenly interrupted by a series of soft, yet all-too familiar electronic beeps and blips. He bit his lower lip and casually looked to the side where Matt stood. Mello pretty much threatened him with bodily harm if he brought his PSP here, though his cell phone was far from off limits.

As expected, Matt's phone was in his hand and fingers on the keypad with his full concentration, likely on one of the hundreds of games he had downloaded on there. Mello kept his irritated gaze on his friend, ready to walk over and tell him to turn the damn thing to silent.

His train of thought was once again interrupted by another unwelcome sound closing in on him that he actually had to pay little mind to; the nasally lisp of Nick Maretta, the slimy attorney who got him the invitations to this event. Anything Mello said to Maretta would eventually go back to Maretta's boss and biting the hand that fed him would be rather unwise at that moment.

"Oh darling, here he is now," Maretta said, still behind Mello yet clearly making a beeline for him. "He's new to L.A. so be gentle on him."

Maretta probably had company with him, which was even worse. Mello's upper lip curled in an annoyed sneer, glancing at Matt. Matt was now looking up from his phone, eyes going back and forth between Mello and whoever was behind him with a dirty smirk and concealed chuckle.

Back still to Maretta, Mello made eye contact with Matt and mouthed "fuck you" before slowly turning around.

Nick Maretta was wearing his green and blue art deco tie and the black suit he probably slept in. Through thick glasses, Mello could see his eyes were somewhat red and the way he rubbed his nose with his finger told him he just had some candy of a different sort.

As expected, Maretta was accompanied by someone, though after a second Mello's annoyance changed to surprised happiness.

It was a face he had glanced at in different black and white photos; one on the website and the back jacket of "Confessions of a Psychopath." He had only taken brief glances at the photos, but was good enough with faces and names to recognize the artist himself.

"Trevor, this is Mello," Maretta said, making a dramatic motion toward Mello. "Mello, this is the star of tonight's show, the one and only Trevor Skye."

Skye remained a few steps to the side of Maretta, looking equally annoyed with his presence as Mello, though his attention too piqued by the sight of the other. Mello noticed the polite smile become a little more enthusiastic as Skye's dark blue eyes subtly trailed down Mello's form. He saw something he liked and Mello was far from bothered by the attention.

Mello put out his hand and gave an enthusiastic handshake to Skye.

"Amazing show," Mello said with perfect sincerity. "I've been following your work for a while now and it never ceases to amaze me."

"Thanks, man," Skye said with a wide smile. "It really means a lot to hear that."

Trevor Skye clearly maintained the airs of a normal guy, though the somewhat gothic and alternative styling was mildly present in his appearance. His mop of impeccably combed- back blond hair bore red and black streaks. It looked as if he wore a hint of eyeliner and the small silver stud in the side of his nose capped off the look. His plain black t-shirt and simple black blazer at this more styled event suggested a more casual demeanor.

He was plainly tall and slender, a pretty average looking individual by Mello's estimation save for the added details.

"Oh Mello I see you brought your friend with you," Maretta said, adjusting his glasses and looking at Matt.

"Your partner in crime?" Skye softly asked with a subtle smile.

"My house bitch," Mello said in the same tone and a wicked smirk.

Skye chuckled with Mello following for a moment before glancing over at Matt, who was still looking down at his phone. The briefly raised middle finger in Mello's direction indicated he heard everything.

"Nah he's my roommate and I just drag him to things," Mello said, taking another bite.

"Well if your new in L.A. it must help to have at least one friend around," Skye said, "though if you want a more proper tour, I'll be in town for at least the next few days." Skye reached into his jacket pocket and produced a business card. "I know a few great chocolatiers."

Mello nibbled his chocolate and took the card with a smirk. It was indeed a professionally printed business card, though Mello noted how a cell phone number had been penned in on the bottom. He had prepared for this sort of thing.

"I'll have to remember that," Mello said with a smile. He had little to no interest in calling, though, once again, the attention was not unwelcome.

"Now if you'll excuse me I have a few more asses to kiss," Skye said, glancing around with a smile.

"Glad I'm not you," Mello said, watching Skye give him a smile and a wink.

Maretta practically grabbed Skye's shoulder while telling him about another friend he had to meet; though the lawyer glanced back to Mello and gave him a subtle, yet goofy thumb's up.

Mello gave Maretta a fake smile before casually turning back with a shiver. Dealing with lowlifes like him was only a small price for being hit on by an amazing artist, Mello counted his wins higher than his losses right now.

He glanced back at where Matt had his perch. His friend was gone from that spot, though returned to his pacing. Mello swore he saw Matt actually glancing at some of the other paintings; it was at least a start.

Mello returned to his browsing, taking another piece of chocolate before wrapping the bar and replacing it in his pocket, all the while admiring the vivid works and the richly dressed art patrons that surrounded him. This was happiness indeed.

A multitude of Skye's works were on display, from ones Mello had seen many times on websites to smaller pieces and even fleshed out sketches. One painting of the Prudential Tower covered in fog and one of a ghostly woman in white walking past a building clearly marked "Quincy Market," all with signatures dated before 2004, showed Skye was displaying some older works done during his greener days in Boston.

Mello turned around to see a few figure drawings in the corner, most of them dramatically posed females strategically covered in shadows or pieces of cloth. Skye went for realism but preferred modesty for whatever reason.

The sight of a red silk shirt caught his eye underneath this painting and, sure enough, Matt was standing transfixed on one work in the corner. This moment only deserved ridicule and Mello wanted to give it to him in spades.

The hard soles of his pointed boots clicked against the brown wood floor as he walked toward his friend with a smug smile. Matt didn't seem to notice, only keeping his gaze on whatever work was in front of him. His eyes did trail upward and his mouth hung slightly open.

"I'd keep your hands to your sides if I were you," Mello said, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops as he walked closer.

Mello expected at least a retort or flushed cheeks in embarrassment; the same reaction he had gotten a few times after walking in a room and catching Matt on the computer watching online porn.

Matt glanced at him with a serious, almost helpless look. Mello cocked an eyebrow at the reaction, which was rather uncharacteristic for Matt.

Mello gradually made his way behind Matt, keeping a view of the back of his head and wanting to surprise himself at whatever scandalous thing he was looking at. Matt's eyes went to the floor as he stood slightly aside, a hand going through his auburn hair as he gave an uncomfortable sigh.

Mello's first reaction upon seeing the image was a dirty chuckle, eyes first catching the body of a half dressed…no make that mostly undressed male. Shadows concealed most of the lower torso and half his chest, creating a somewhat dramatic lighting effect.

"Oh Matt isn't he adorable," Mello said, first noticing the slender, close to gaunt form and the mass of matted black hair.

Mello's smile quickly evaporated, his knees suddenly threatening to give out the moment he got a better look at the face; features that were etched in his memory and now looking back at him through canvas.

Intense dark eyes framed by dark circles; pointed, yet delicate facial features; and a calm yet mischievous smile hinting at a million plots.

The young man in the painting leaned backward, his elbows casually resting his weight against what looked like a table; gaze directly at the audience. His stance was confident, though Mello clearly recognized the visible slouch to the shoulders and the slightly downcast turn to his eyes.

Mello tried to chase away the shock with denial; it was impossible, this had to be another person besides his idol.

The memory of every feature of L's face, however, would never leave him and would never let him deny that this image was anyone else. As much as he tried to pry his eyes away, they trailed down the painting.

No intimate areas were visible or even outlined in the shadow. Half of one thigh was illuminated as was a slight curve to his backside. The figure in the painting, though half concealed, was clearly nude. Mello almost felt he was intruding by looking at this piece.

"Look at the one above this," Matt practically whispered, pointing upward.

Another smaller piece was mounted diagonally from the top corner of this one. Once again, the same mass of black hair, the same pointed features, the same black rimmed eyes.

This portrait only showed the figure from his bare chest upwards, looking to the side while holding a small, crystal candle holder in which a lit tea light candle glowed. The candlelight lit half his face, the spikes of his hair creating shadows across his face though the features were clear.

"Yeah, I thought that's who it was," Matt said gravely.

"We don't know that for sure," Mello quietly snapped.

Matt had only seen L once and for a few minutes. Mello, however, had gazed at that face for an entire night in rapt awe as he told stories of his three greatest cases. Out of both of them, Mello had the most experience to know exactly who this was and Trevor Skye had the talent to capture every line, every angle, and every texture of his features perfectly.

A sudden memory from that amazing meeting, a few months after the L.A.B.B murders and nearly a year before the Kira case, caused Mello's eyes to trail down the image of L's body despite every mental cry against it. If Trevor was that good and this was actually L, one feature would be in place.

Mello looked carefully and felt his knees buckle again at the sight of a faint, yet noticeable scar on his side.

They had been introduced for five minutes when Mello, ever the alleged tough guy, made some smart comment to L about being a "couch potato detective." L gave him one of those calm glares, slowly stood up from his seat, and lifted the bottom part of his white shirt high enough for Mello to see that exact scar in a fresher, redder form.

"Yes, you are at great risk of taking a knife to the side when you sit in front of a computer all day," L had said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

L didn't give the particulars about how or when he got it, just explained that he did do a bit of undercover work and there were always risks. By Mello's estimation, the scar was less than a month old but L didn't want to be pressed any further on the matter.

Skye had captured that scar perfectly in this painting and Mello's last denial that the subject could be anyone but L was smothered. The question of "who" was pretty much answered, though screams of "why" and "how" went through Mello's brain.

Mello stepped back, frantically scanning the room for the artist himself. Skye had just finished speaking with a couple teen girls in black leather pants and black lipstick before seeing Mello staring at him from across the gallery.

Mello casually pointed at him and motioned with his index finger for him to come over; taking a deep breath and trying to still look somewhat cool though his hands were starting to shake. Skye gave him a smile and a nod while making a casual beeline for Mello.

Matt stepped back a few steps, meeting Mello's gaze and exchanging the same disturbed look.

"See something you like," Skye said, taking a sip from the flute of champagne in his hand.

Mello put his hands on his hips and motioned nodded toward the painting.

"Oh you noticed these two," Skye said, pointing to both the paintings. "A couple creative souvenirs from my leaner days."

"May I ask who your model was for this one," Mello asked.

Skye gave a semi-embarrassed chuckle that told Mello more than he wanted to know.

"He's beautiful, isn't he," Skye replied. "He was a houseguest of mine for a little while back about, God I don't know, in '03 somewhere around there. A very long time ago."

"Houseguest?" Mello asked, trying to sound curious and not incredulous.

Skye chuckled again, his cheeks turning slightly red. "Well we kind of, enjoyed each other's company as it were," he replied.

"So you two pretty much fucked," Mello said calmly, not caring how it came out.

"Well…pretty much yeah," Skye replied with another uncomfortable laugh, his eyes now fixed on Mello waiting for a reaction.

Mello simply nodded, though could not conceal a small grimace as he tried to comprehend all he was hearing. He glanced at Matt, who folded his arms and looked somewhat green.

"I was 22 when this happened and yes I did sow my wild oats a bit; typical dumb kid in a big city," Skye said in a semi-apologetic tone, "though this beautiful creature right here was different. His name is Ben I met him on the T Memorial Day weekend, the Boston subway to us locals; just another semi-morbid looking pretty boy I thought. We ended up spending the weekend together; how that happened I will never know. He seemed like a fragile, scared little fox, though just a few words with him he was incredibly strong; this old soul just made of so many mysteries.

"I remember telling him I wanted to paint him and at first he just gave me this 'you've got to be kidding me' look. Believe me you don't want those eyes looking at you like that; they'll bore right through you. But you could tell he was thinking of it a little, finally he just got into a pose; made me swear it would be paints and pencil only, under no circumstances whatsoever was he to be photographed."

The circumstances Skye described seemed impossible; L was too proud and too shy for such a thing. But then Mello only knew his idol through stories and the rarer conversation; L could have had a whole other life aside from his work. Given his methods and approach to some of his most difficult cases, Skye's description fit him too well.

"He sounds so methodical, so cautious yet so reckless at the right moments," Mello said with a nod, his chest tightening.

"Yeah, that is probably the best way to describe it," Skye said with a chuckle, his eyes turning to the larger painting. Mello swore he saw a look of longing in that gaze. "He was a constant enigma, but that just added to his beauty."

Mello glanced at Matt once again, seeing him leaning up against the wall and shifting uncomfortably. This all was becoming a little too much for Mello as well.

"That's an amazing story," Mello said.

"Why thank you, it's pretty amazing to me too," Skye replied. An uncomfortable silence lingered for a moment; Skye giving another look to both Mello and Matt, seeing them looking somewhat uncomfortable if not perturbed. "Well my public awaits," he said, giving Matt and Mello a nod before walking away.

Matt and Mello exchanged another hard glance, both glancing back to Skye as if they were begging for more information yet their stance suggesting they heard enough, possibly too much.

"I think this is a good time to get the hell out of here," Matt said.

Mello nodded, wanting to say something in return though any words right now failed him. He turned on his heel and slowly walked away from the wall, taking one last glance at the paintings of his fallen idol.

He saw Matt also giving one last look while looking down at his cell phone, then positioning the top part at the painting. Mello's eyes slightly widened as he sneered; the son of a bitch was taking a photograph of each of the two paintings. A few pressed buttons later, Matt folded his phone, put it in his pocket and walked toward Mello.

Mello stood and glared at him for a moment. Matt returned the look before shrugging and pulling a cigarette and lighter from his other pocket.

Mello looked away from him and continued for the door, grabbing the chocolate bar from his vest, unwrapping a corner and chomping down.

All he really needed right now was air and a million miles of space to process his surging thoughts.


	2. Part 2

Calculated Risks

**Calculated Risks**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Author's Note: Any references to L's "name" and past history are my additions only and have no root in canon.

**Part 2**

**May 31, 2003**

**Boston**

It was the last file on the right-hand side of the screen, a text file simply labeled 111802.

L stared at the nondescript icon for a moment, his elbow resting on his knee as he gently nibbled the tip of his thumb.

He vowed to himself before coming here the laptop was going to remain in its case all weekend and only be used in a dire emergency. The wireless card, Ethernet cable, and even phone cord were still packed in a separate bag to diffuse his temptation, though he still couldn't resist getting the laptop out for whatever reason; force of habit maybe.

It was just to check some files he already stored in there, give him somewhat of a head start on his next case even if it was a quick glance.

Opening this particular folder, however, was almost inevitable given recent circumstances and it would only lead to him finding this one file.

L tried to stay his hand, though the temptation to click the icon proved too tempting; resulting in the text file opening and a series of painful words flashing across the screen.

_Liam,_

_Tell me, honestly, how are things going for you?_

_Given where you are now and what happened three days ago, the answer should be obvious; though you do know what is being asked._

_How are things for you really?_

_I ask because I believe there is significant reason for concern even if I was too stubborn or simply too deluded to see it until recent events._

_Let's look at the situation at hand; according to Inspector Daley and all personnel of the North Vancouver Detachment of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, you, Michael Norrison – the eyes and ears of L for the invesitgation into the Blue Dragon Cartel, were simply injured in the line of duty. _

_The fact you were able to hold off the physically imposing cartel kingpin in hand to hand combat for so long was already impressive and no one is blaming you for not seeing the knife in his hand until it was too late. You also know that Watari shares that same point of view; you simply got the wrong end of that battle._

_It was fortunate overall that, despite strict Canadian laws against concealed firearms, you were the one to bring down Xiang Feng with a .38 you pulled from that holster in your trousers. One shot to the shoulder and one barrel pointed at his temple was all that was needed to get him in handcuffs. Inspector Daley even admitted the gun will just be lost in evidence; no need to go after you for saving their skins especially given your condition at the time._

_In the end, you look like the shining hero to all parties involved; but this was hardly a surprise to you. You knew you would crack this case as usual, though I have reason to believe the scene involving that knife through your side was also part of the plan at some stage, or was at least an improvised development on your part for reasons I will get to in a moment._

_It is time to start being honest with yourself since given the trauma of the event you will probably have forgotten a few details. The last thing I want you to do is go along with the story everyone is telling now since you know the truth._

_You have had over a decade or practice in both kung fu and karate and you have made excellent strides in two months of practice in capoeira. You have been in many fights with many individuals of varying physiques and levels of ability and, until three days ago, a couple sprains and broken digits here and there have the worst of your injuries. _

_You have also fought against opponents carrying everything from small pistols to palmed throwing stars and immediately identified their weapons just by seeing how they held their hands, and in all cases finding ways to immediately disarm them. _

_This leads me to ask how you didn't see the handle of the dagger in Feng's hand. You have seen this type of weapon, where the 15 cm blade extends with a push of a lever, so you would have at least known to look for the blade as you were blocking his punches. _

_Was this sloppiness on your part? I only wish it were but I believe the truth is a bit harsher. Admitting there is a problem is the first step toward solving it._

_Things have not been going well for you have they, Liam? You know this and have been packing away the fact under layer after layer of emotional ice, taking on double your usual workload to try to shove those pesky emotions aside. _

_Underneath it all, behind the imposing reputation and the seeming omniscience embodied by a letter on a screen, you are in fact human and actually have a soul._

_Let's get straight to the heart of the matter, shall we; a 16-year-old boy who worshipped you hung himself in his room. You've been trying to block that out, but the image from the autopsy photo of those black and purple marks around his neck from have been making their way into your nightmares._

_He left behind a simple piece of typing paper with some writing in impeccable, yet shaking handwriting; just a few simple words._

_L,_

_I let you down_

_I'm sorry_

_-A_

_You haven't let yourself forget this no matter how much you try. Yes, like I said, have it out at last._

_But it only got worse, didn't it, about two months ago._

_You tried to keep everything professional when you learned B left Wammy's House. You knew what would happen next in your usually amazing deduction skills; though were you prepared for the reality? _

_That image of him on a store surveillance tape dressed and made up to look almost exactly like you is the one image you play in your head the most, the same image that matched every one of Misora-san's descriptions of Rue Ryuzaki. What's this I hear that you have now taken at least part of that name as an alias?_

_You know your double dismembered three people all in the name of trying to beat or impress you, perhaps both. Your psyche, no matter how much you try to pack it in ice, will not allow you to forget you were his idol._

_People have died horribly because of you, that is what you keep telling yourself. It is one thing if people die under your watch, though people dying in your name is a little too much to handle._

_I believe three days ago, perhaps this entire mission, has been your way to finally prove to the world you are fallible if not snuff out your buried agony altogether. Hanging yourself with a bed sheet or setting yourself on fire is too direct; the best way for L to end his own life is to allow himself to be killed in the line of duty._

_I am convinced, though, that suicide was not your mission going into this case, though it seemed quite tempting when the situation prevented itself. If you planned to go to Vancouver and never return you would have at least chosen two more potential successors. _

_It would be tempting to say you took this case because it was presently the most dangerous one in Canada for those on the front lines; a somewhat sentimental side of you wanting your last case to be in your native country working with the police force you idolized as a child. That would be until I consider the massive case of labor corruption and organized crime going on in Edmonton at the same time; a little closer to your childhood home than Vancouver so I stand down on that matter._

_Regardless, you know this was a rather difficult and potentially dangerous case when it would have been best to stay behind your computer instead of going directly undercover. Inspector Daley and the rest of his colleagues would have easily taken direction from you remotely._

_Instead you did get involved right until your stand with Feng himself and I won't reiterate the rest. The rest is written in a long line across your side and the scar that will be there for the rest of your life. The rest is written in your brain of your sheer terror when your adrenaline crashed and you realized the dagger went deep and your clothes were soaked in your own blood; the moment you realized your temporary desire for death might actually result in you dying. _

_Was this supposed to be your judgment for A and B's fates when you ignored that dagger, wanting to take anything from a cut on the hand to a blade through the heart as that inner sense of justice you personally deny having kicked in? Do you still think that thing sinking into your kidney by way of a thin slice into your liver was a fitting compromise?_

_Please let this experience finally be your wake-up call, friend. _

_In the end, you will still have a scar though you will walk out of here in a couple days and you seem to take that as good news. Just keep reminding yourself, no matter how this story ends, that Feng is in jail now and his cronies joined him thanks to your efforts even while highly medicated with a few tubes still in a few orifices. _

_What happened to A and B was not your fault so you can stop blaming yourself. _

_You will return to Winchester as soon as you are out of here and you will formally choose two, maybe three, more successors and you will make sure they are mentally more stable and stronger and receive regular psychological screenings. Just remember nearly bleeding to death is a bad time to realize that you have no chosen successor; let this be your motivation._

_The next time you get the urge for suicide, remember sitting in Inspector Daley's car in a pool of your own blood, biting your hand to try to stay awake and stave off shock, or having to make that highly coded phone call to Watari to choose a successor in case you didn't wake from the anesthesia. Just remember that scared look on Watari's face and the way he clutched your hand as you came around. _

_The next time you decide to kill yourself, be prepared to die and that the act of dying is pure hell._

_You've cheated the reaper this time; try to appreciate your life a little more. Thin out your case load for the next few weeks, don't sulk or snap when Watari wants to tend to your every need. In fact maybe now is a good time to think about where you want to take your next weekend retreat, you know you need one._

_Try to avoid the urge to delete this file when you look on it again, and I know you will. Just take it as some friendly advice._

_Sincerely_

_-Yourself_

_P.S. A large piece of shortcake with a bowl of vanilla bean ice cream; let that be one more happy thought._

L managed to pull his gaze away from the glowing screen, noticing the light in his hotel room had faded significantly. He looked to the lower, right hand corner of his laptop screen: 6:45 PM.

He pried his legs from their usual crouching position on the plush chair, his bare feet falling to the thick carpet as he walked over to the window and threw open the shades.

The sun was likely beginning its descent, though it was buried behind a thick screen of clouds that hung around Boston's skyscrapers. On the ground, the pavement of Copley Plaza was significantly darker and passing Bostonians were opening their umbrellas and adjusting their hats against the light rain.

L leaned his bare shoulder against the window frame as he studied the now-glowing streetlights and headlights of passing cars illuminating the rain.

His own walk through the city earlier that day had been relatively dry, if not overcast. The coming rain made the outdoor conditions ideal for his long walking tour through most of the downtown area.

Within a couple hours after he first arrived at the Fairmont Copley Plaza that morning, after securing his belongings in his room, L walked from the Back Bay to Fanueil Hall, snaking through Copley Plaza, Boston Common, parts of Chinatown, and around Beacon Hill and City Hall.

The day had been completely unproductive, but that's how it should have been anyway. L had to remind himself of that repeatedly; not working was the entire point of a retreat.

The last time he had taken more than a day off was two years ago; a rather relaxing weekend in Paris if he recalled though it seemed so long ago. Even the five days he spent in the hospital after the attack in Vancouver six months ago still saw him working, as did the subsequent month of recovery time.

This weekend was more the result of Watari's intervention than his own decision; despite how he begged himself to take some time off in the personal log he had just finished reading.

It was rare L voluntarily took any time off and if he did it was usually at Watari's suggestion. Watari understood L's obsessive drive and determination, though once in a great while, would call a time-out when he suspected the workload was taking too much of a toll on him. The best thing to do for an efficient machine was to occasionally shut it down and do basic maintenance work instead of letting it grind itself out. Watari knew all the subtle signs that L was in such a state where a couple days off would be beneficial.

Such time off usually involved him stealing an extra day to play tourist at whatever location he was working in at the time. On rarer occasions L would take two or three days off altogether depending on his current workload.

Watari never asked any details when he returned, and sometimes it was for the better; the world's most decorated detective really didn't need a babysitter. Then again, whether it was Watari's business or not, L wasn't exactly the jet-set party type; usually attending a gallery showing, a performance of some kind, or an academic conference. He would take part in a few personal indulgences mostly in food, occasionally in drink, and sometimes with a hired companion of either gender.

Watari's occasional request that L take time off was normally not an issue. Two weeks ago, however, that request was uncharacteristically insistent; two weeks ago Watari gently grabbed his protégé's shoulders and said "You need a few days away."

It was a display L both resented and felt slightly embarrassed about. Watari typically did not make that strong a statement, but then he had also been put through too much in the past few months as well. It was what led L to cave in to his wishes, randomly choosing Boston after seeing an article about Harvard in a magazine.

Unlike every other trip he had taken, there was no plan and no itinerary involved. L simply chose Boston, did a few web searches on its local landmarks and activities, and simply went. This trip, however, was about escape pure and simple; he needed a few days to get away from his typical existence to clear his head. Too many things were still weighing on him and Watari saw that clearly.

Tonight's major plan was walking to the Charles Playhouse and seeing Blue Man Group. He would then probably walk back to his hotel, maybe order some shortcake and coffee from room service, and maybe try to sleep. Tomorrow he might go to the Museum of Fine Art, perhaps go to the Harvard campus and try to eavesdrop on a few professors.

L rested his head on the window frame as he looked out over the now-illuminated Boston skyline through his long, black hair still wet from his shower, his mouth forming into a grimace.

According to the plan, he would have at least another day and a half to himself; another day and a half of quiet. The prospect would bring elation to most people. L however could not suppress the feeling of dread that brought.

L pulled his head from the windowsill and pushed his weight slightly back from the wall, his gaze remaining on the glowing clouds that hung over the Boston skyline.

A retreat in itself was a good thing, but right now complete silence completely frightened him. Being honest with himself about his emotions, however, was the best thing for him and maybe that was only something silence could bring out.

It was the entire reason why he had written that entry into his log while in the hospital, laptop on his bed table and arms stretched out on the keyboard as actually sitting up was torture.

He typically used his log file for personal views on cases, sometimes scathing descriptions of investigators or getting out ideas on cases that could be later analyzed.

That entry six months ago was the first time he had ever poured his heart out in that file and he needed to at the time.

L's gaze fell to the floor, his elbow resting on the windowsill. He slowly brought his head up, taking a long, hard look at the scar on his side; a small line around his ribcage from the initial stick right next to the longer line created to repair the damage. Everything had healed up well, leaving only a raised line slightly pinker than his skin tone.

Maybe this was symbolic as well; healing from this mess was possible. This weekend in itself was a success and he had even had fulfilled at least a few orders to himself in that log; enjoying his skin a little more and finding a successor after the hell he went through with A and B.

Back in Winchester, three boys were lined up as possible successors, the main two being 11-year-old Near, who L saw as colder and more insular than he, and 13-year-old Mello, an angel-faced bruiser with a silver tongue. L also kept an eye on the third runner up, 13-year-old Matt, who appeared like a normal teen with his video games and comic books but had the heart of a mercenary.

L had plans for how he wanted to test them, possibly exploit the already existing rivalry between Near and Mello to test their respective strengths. He had already had an extended conversation with Mello and a brief meeting with Matt, though Near seemed uninterested in meeting him and L respected that.

The thought of actually seeing one of them sitting behind his computer went through his head a little more often in recent months; the thought of personally handing over his files and giving Mello or Near, perhaps Matt depending on the circumstances, a tutorial on some of the mechanics of the position.

Then he would simply leave them to their work, maybe act independently or on the new L's behest as Eraldo Coil and Denueve, names he would retain for smaller-scale detective work. Maybe he would ditch both those aliases and simply go to school; a little late for most people his age though it was extremely common.

There was another reality that made him sigh hard, looking out the window and seeing the rain fall a little heavier through the streetlights.

He had been doing this job since he was eight-years-old, making that fifteen years in the field. In some professions, people with that many years of service thought about retirement.

For some reason, the idea of doing his work at this level when he turned 30 was somewhat unthinkable. For the longest while he doubted he would live to see 30, a thought that didn't bother him as much as it should have. But then if he did reach that age, then what?

L couldn't help but smile slightly; retirement was a better option than suicide, he had heeded his wake-up call well.

Those who cheated death, however, tended to be either extremely cautious or extremely reckless; round one with the reaper was over, bring on round two. L still couldn't decide which side he was on now.

L gave another hard sigh, giving one last look at the Boston skyline before closing the curtains with a snap of the cord; the glow of his computer now the only light in the room.

He hopped into his normal sitting position on in the chair, looking back at the clock on the laptop which now read 7:00 PM. The show was at 7:30, now was the time to get going.

The top of his slender finger rested on the touchpad, moving briefly in a circle as he watched the cursor move along. He had every intention of closing the file, reestablishing the layer of encryption, and finally shutting down. Instead he just stared at the screen, his gray eyes trailing over a few of the lines.

At last he threw his head back, forcibly prying his gaze away. L looked back at the words with a scowl, moving the cursor to the top right and closing the box, removing his own pained narrative from his sight.

Maybe he should do something a little more active after the show, like go to a night club, actually have some drinks with more alcohol than syrup.

He hadn't hired an escort in a long while and of all the nights he could have used some carnal companionship tonight was it. Granted he was in the United States and the quality would be lacking, though maybe a few phone calls to the right people would net him a night with a woman, or maybe a man, whose services were used by Beacon Hill politicians or members of the Kennedy family.

Or maybe Hades would truly freeze over and he would find himself an actual date. Just the thought of that produced a chuckle as he finished the last code of the firewall and finally shut down his laptop, pushing it closed.

He hopped from his seat, pushing the button to turn on the lamp beside his chair, before walking to his bed and scooping up a gray hooded sweatshirt. He tried to avoid wearing his usual long sleeved t while on retreats and this show would be probably too informal for the suit he had packed away. His lanky arms slid into the sleeves and he pulled the rest of the garment over his head and over his body, covering that scar at last.

L picked up the laptop case from the bed with one hand and leaned down to unhook the power cord and collect the computer itself, which he slid into the case. He closed the zipper and activated the security lock on the bag as he walked toward the television and the drawer underneath it. His big toe looped into handle and he pulled the drawer open with his leg, gently placing the laptop inside before kicking the drawer closed.

The drawer itself needed no lock. If someone tried to interfere with the lock on the laptop case, however, it would give a mild electric shock to the user and give L a call on his cell phone that someone tried to tamper with it.

All necessary precautions, he thought to himself with another grimace, sliding his feet in a pair of sneakers by the television before turning to the door.

* * *

A blinking red "2" was the first thing Trevor saw through the darkness of his apartment when stepping in the door.

He flicked the light switch by the door that did nothing more than activate the outlet where a tiny lamp was plugged in. It gave him enough illumination to walk into his studio apartment, throwing his keys on the cluttered coffee table and placing his newly-bought large drawing pad against the couch.

Trevor plopped on a black rattan next to the window, picking up the cordless phone and checking the caller ID.

The first number displayed, a cell phone with the Boston 617 area code, immediately made him groan and resist the urge to chuck the phone across the room. The second only made his stomach drop even further; the Maine 207 area code followed by a series of digits he had burned into his brain since third grade.

He put the phone back in its charger, looking at the answering machine as if it were a villain tormenting him. Trevor couldn't decide what would be better for his sanity; ignoring the messages altogether or playing them and finding out what his ex-roommate and his mother wanted.

He sighed, closing his eyes before pushing the play button.

First message received 5:47 PM.

"Hey Trevor, it's Jade," a shrill, yet somewhat mournful voice said across the machine. "I know I'm probably one of the last people you want to hear from right now, but I just think we need to talk. I tried to call over at your office, but someone, I think it was Dave, the dude with the Southern accent you told me about, but anyway. He said you didn't work there any more, said you were let go last week. I'm really, really sorry, Trevor, I know you loved that job and I know things must be pretty shitty for you right now. Well, I know I have no right to say anything, but things are pretty shitty for me as well."

Jade paused, her voice noticeably cracking as she sniffed.

"Cry me a river, drama queen," Trevor muttered.

"Well, Pete and I broke up this morning," the voice continued. "We'd been fighting all the time and finally we just broke it off. Oh God I feel like such a tool, Trevor. I fucking begged you to come to Boston with me, then you did, then I just fucking leave you in that huge apartment and live with that asshat. Now you lost your job and I'm still living with the asshat."

"No shit," Trevor muttered, almost wishing he had her directly on the phone instead of over a machine. "No shit, Jade."

"I am so sorry Trevor, you must think I am such a bitch," Jade said through sobs and, from what Trevor knew of her, a few rum and cokes. "But you know what I still love you to pieces. Look, I really think we need to talk. I've been thinking, and you'll probably want to kick my ass for saying this, I really want to move back in. This time will be different; I'll just take over the whole rent as long as you need to look for a job. I owe you some back payments anyway. Look, I can't say enough how sorry I am Trevor. Happy Memorial Day and I'll call you later."

Trevor gave a frustrated growl, picking up a black fur pillow from the couch and tossing it across the room.

Jade took off two months ago with barely a word and barely a penny in rent. With Trevor's well paying job in the office of Northeastern University's art department, Jade's betrayal was the worst issue; that was until Trevor got fired last week.

He sat back in his chair, waiting for the next message that was a little more inevitable.

Second message received 7:15 PM.

"Hi Trevor, it's mom," the voice said, another voice Trevor truly didn't want to hear right now. "Just calling to check how things are, making sure you're not getting too crazy this holiday weekend. Also, and I'm not pressuring you to make any decisions, but I cleaned out your room today. Everything is all set if you choose to come back up, but that's something we can talk about later, no rush. Love ya, bye."

The knife twisted a little more. Trevor laid his head back against the wood frame of the chair with a pained sigh.

Up until a week ago, his mother had spent the past 22 years of his life making subtle little judgment calls about everything he did while not hiding her gushing admiration for his older brother's high paying real estate job and his "way too cute" fiancée.

Despite it all, his family was essentially all he had right now, thought it was not a comforting thought at all.

Trevor groaned, prying himself off the seat and jumping to his feet. He stood for a moment, eyes scanning the cluttered space that was his Back Bay apartment. Raindrops hitting the window and a few requisite honking horns from outside were the only sound.

A year ago this space was a regular party pad crawling with Trevor and Jade's buddies every night. The couch would usually have about five people on it, three people vying for the rattan, and who knows how many more just standing around drinking or talking. It was a wonderfully cosmopolitan existence for Trevor who had spent previous life rotting in small town Maine.

All there was in the apartment now were whatever sparse pieces of furniture he brought in. Jade took most of her things out save for a really ugly table shaped like a stretching cat.

His art supplies had moved in and taken over. A drafting table sat against one wall with a mass of sketches on it. He kept his easel and arsenal of acrylic paints and brushes by the window. The sight of the glowing Boston skyline at night was always an inspiration and the current piece of canvas on his easel took that to a more literal extent.

Trevor walked to the easel, taking a closer look at the rough outline he had painted earlier today of the Prudential Tower. His eyes then fell to the window where the real thing glowed on the horizon through the heavy clouds; it was a sight that produced a sigh.

If he did the safe thing, this was probably one of the last moments he would have to look out at this piece of architectural beauty; one of the last moments he would have to bask in the overall beauty of the city.

Last week aesthetics were the last thing on his mind; avoiding being homeless was. He had barely gotten in the door after being let go at Northeastern when he was on the phone to mom; despite everything she was still mom and the one person who he knew he could turn to in his bad situation.

In an hour long conversation, an adolescence worth of bickering was put on hold at least temporarily and Trevor swallowed his pride whole. In the end, his room in Biddeford was still open, mom would buy him a train ticket whenever he knew he was coming back, and he had all the paperwork to reconvene his interrupted education at U. Maine.

His entire, blissful year in Boston would be buried that easily.

Trevor took another look at the painting, a part of him wanting to pick up a brush and start coloring in the glowing lights though another part of him felt too sick to look at either the work or the inspiration.

Not all hope was lost, though. He did have at least a thousand dollars saved aside from his inheritance from Uncle Steve. At least that could pay the rent for another month while he looked for a job.

Jade's phone call should have been a bright spot; maybe the stupid bitch would actually get her act together and keep her promise. Trevor had little faith in that happening, however.

Trevor walked into the small side bathroom, flipping the light switch and taking a hard look at himself in the mirror. He had shaved the sides of his head out of boredom three days ago and colored the longer middle section green. If he had a job interview, he could just shave off the rest and no one would think anything of it.

A few darker circles had formed around his eyes; stress will do that after all though the slight wrinkles probably had more to do with how he started smoking again a month ago.

He picked up a black eye pencil from the corner of the sink, one finger gently holding his eyelid down as he traced the line of his eyelashes. The other eye soon followed as he added lines on his lower lids as well.

"Dead fucking sexy," he said to his reflection with a smirk.

He threw the eye pencil in the sink, snapped the light off, and walked back into the apartment taking pains to avoid looking out the wide window.

Trevor's gaze instead fell to the wall and a mass of finished paintings on the floor propped against the white stucco. His eyes did catch one framed photograph he had actually took the trouble to mount; an image of a white haired man in a green polo shirt, one arm propping his weight against a tree in what looked like the Desert of Maine.

Trevor paused for a moment, seeing Uncle Steve's usual wide grin. Even after he had his stroke two years ago, Steve never lost his smile despite losing so many other abilities. That smile was only in a photograph now.

He was in Boston now because of his late great-uncle; Steve had encouraged him for years to just take off somewhere like he always did. Even when he died, he left Trevor 3,000 in his will specifically telling him to use the money to enjoy his life.

Steve would have been the first person he would have called after losing his job, the first person he would have called after Jade took off. After all, he was the first person he came out to; knowing he could because he knew Steve himself had lived with his partner Tom for the last 30 years.

When Steve died Trevor lost his only advocate, his best friend, and had to listen to all the disparaging remarks his family made about his uncle.

Trevor was now away from all that thanks to Steve; at least for now. If he let the dream dry up and took the safe route however.

Trevor turned away from the wall and practically ran to the coffee table, picking up his keys, a smaller sketch pad, and a mechanical pencil.

There were a million places in Boston where he could sit and sketch and he needed to be in at least one of them. He had about 5 left on his last T pass, maybe he would just choose a subway station and just sit, or maybe ride the trains.

Maybe he would meet a gallery owner who would give him a major display. Maybe he would encounter enough transients that would make him want to dedicate his life to helping the homeless. Maybe he would just find the goth boy of his dreams and get seriously laid like he needed to.

All possibilities floated through his brain as he opened the front door.


	3. Part 3

**Calculated Risks**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities

**Part 3**

**May 31, 2003**

**Boston**

"Entering Kendall/MIT," the pleasant electronic voice called from overhead.

The train's comfortable rattling slowed as the pitch blackness of the tunnel brightened. Black tracks and tunnel were now an explosion of auburn tiles lining the hallway contrasted with the usual light gray of the platform.

The train slowly cam to a halt, soon followed by a soft dinging and the churning mechanism that opened the doors of the subway car.

L pried his head off the side window long enough to look at the doors and see three young men in hooded sweatshirts and baggy t's hop off the train still involved in their conversation, which had moved from choosing courses to the Red Sox.

The doors soon closed and L returned his attention to the rest of the platform

"Next stop Charles/MGH," the pleasant electronic voice said. "The destination of this train is Braintree."

The train's soothing rumbling began again as it slowly moved away from the platform and shot back into the black subway tunnel.

L looked down on the floor to see his sneakers gently shifting in their position as his bare feet enjoyed somewhat of a massage on the edge of the seat as the rumbling and jerking motions of the train went through the arches.

His wild mane of black hair once again pressed against the window while he loosened the embrace on his knees and returned his gaze to the peaceful blackness.

This had been blissful reality for the past hour and a half. An hour and a half ago his seeming death march back to the hotel after the end of the show turned into a half-hour walk around Boston Common and lead to the pull of the glowing white sign with a black T surrounded by a black circle on a building; the symbol of a Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority, or T, station.

A short walk down some stairs, a few dollars into a machine, and a quick glance at a map later, he entered his current quiet reality. L had ridden in numerous subways in numerous cities; though now felt he had never appreciated the experience until now.

Now he was protectively encased by cement and metal; the bustle of Boston, of the universe for that matter, was outside and away from his reality. The only other people in the universe now were a handful of fellow passengers and none paid any attention to anyone else.

An elderly man did not take his eyes off the Chinese newspaper he was reading. Two teenage girls leaned back in their seats and continued their conversation about their boyfriends. The rest continued from there.

L did briefly make eye contact with a young man sitting near the back; his faded green hair and black denim jacket with various painted designs on it made him stick out a little more from the rest. L had seen such styling before, though his eyes needed a brief focus on something unique.

The young man gave him a polite smile before turning his attention back on his pencil and what looked like some type of spiral-bound pad in his hands.

L reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his cell phone, folding it open grabbing the top by his thumb and index finger.

The clock, set for Eastern Standard Time read 11:05 PM. No new calls or messages had been received and the antenna, despite being deep in a subway tunnel, was at full signal thanks to one of Watari's simpler tweaks to the internal board.

If a true global calamity struck and the only one who could save the world was its "greatest detective," L would receive a phone call at his vacation spot and, with enough running or manipulating local transportation, could be back in his hotel in fifteen minutes. A minute after that he would secure the room, have his laptop set up and connected, and could immediately be in contact with the world's key players.

He almost wanted to receive that call; it would make him feel a little less useless than he felt at the moment.

L folded his phone with an impatient snap and put it back in his pocket, resting his chin on his knees and looking back out the window; his glare reflecting back on himself.

This blissful ride would have to end soon. He had ridden the Red Line to its last outbound stop at Alewife Station and the train was now heading inbound for the last time before stopping for the night. Park Street Station, where he had begun this little diversion, was just three stops away and he had to make a decision soon; get off and go back to his hotel at last or take the line a few stops down and then walk back.

Regardless this moment was going to end, an idea that truly frightened him. The silence had been a concern before, now it was a plain threat. Whether he returned to the hotel or walked around the city all night, the quiet would still loom over him and he did not trust his current mental state to deal with that.

He took another cursory glance down the train and once again made eye contact with the same green-haired man, who once again looked back down at whatever he was doing.

The usual small alarm went off in L's mind; that was twice now, one too many times to be an accidental glance.

Whoever this was had taken somewhat of an interest in him, though probably out of curiosity. L knew his current sitting position wasn't exactly common and some people might either stare or just take amused glances.

He initially ignored the passenger, admitting to himself he was a little jumpier than usual and for several legitimate reasons.

His attention turned back on the tunnel, though a sudden realization caught him; that same man with the green hair had been in that same seat when the train pulled into Alewife. He was behind several more passengers at the time and barely noticeable, though L remembered that green mop of hair over the shaved sides of his head.

That individual he had not gotten off the train when it reversed its direction, meaning either he also had been aimlessly riding or...

His eyes stayed on the window for another few seconds before returning to the back of the train. A familiar set of eyes were on him again for another second before darting back down to the pad again.

L fixed a calm glare on him, his eyes narrowing and giving the passenger a look as if to say "Yes, I know you're there."

The passenger's eyes cautiously turned up before going back down, his cheeks taking a noticeable flush.

The lights of the tunnel became brighter as the train came to a chugging slowdown, providing L with enough reason for distraction though more reason to be wary.

"Now entering Charles/MGH," the overhead voice said.

The train slowed significantly, fluorescent lights and auburn tiles again coming into view. L looked to the back of the train again to see two young women in saris walk toward the front. The green-haired man had hastily jumped from his seat and was now behind them, meaning either this was his stop or something else was going on

"Entering Charles/MGH," the voice said. "Doors open on the right."

The train stopped and the doors opened with a ding. The two women stepped off, L's basic knowledge of Nepalese picking up a conversation between the two about a real estate deal.

L kept half an eye on the window and half an eye on the young man, hackles slightly raised when the stranger completely avoided the door and walked in his direction with a casual, yet determined gait.

"Next stop Park Street," the voice said as the doors finally closed. "The destination of this train is Braintree."

The train rumbled out of the station, causing the young man to momentarily grab an overhead rail to steady himself before continuing toward L.

L pretended not to notice him, though instinctively tightened his leg muscles in case he had to spring in an instant. His head finally turned toward the man, hollow eyes falling on him with the same pointed glare.

The man stopped in front of him then stepped to the side and plopped down in the seat next to him. The tip of L's thumb returned to his mouth, his practically unblinking stare fixed on his visitor.

The stranger smiled, lifting the top cover of his spiral-bound pad and turning it in L's direction.

L's hand slightly relaxed, the tip of his thumb slipping out of his mouth as he saw what was practically a reflection of himself in pencil form. He gently grabbed the pad out of the man's hand and held it closer to get a better look.

Heavy, yet graceful pencil strokes captured the exact shape and shade of his hair pressed against the window, dark-rimmed eyes gazing listlessly out into the tunnel as his shoulders slouched under the baggy hood of his sweatshirt. He could even see the bone structure of his hands and the light coating of hair over his wrists.

L raised his eyebrows and nodded in approval, taking a sideways glance at the artist who gave him a good-natured smirk.

He lifted the page, seeing another equally detailed sketch of a small child with her blonde hair in pigtails and eating a jelly doughnut; the smear over her face was realistically textured and L could also see the seats and railings of the same car they road on. He flipped the page again and revealed an elderly black man with a harmonica sitting on a stool against the back wall of another subway stop.

A few more page flips revealed several similar scenes; slices of life on the T at night. L flipped the pages back to his own image before handing the pad back to its owner by the tips his fingers, mouth in an almost sheepish smirk.

"Those are quite good," he said.

"Not bad for killing some time, I guess," the man said. "Sorry if I startled you. You never know what wackos are going to be out on the trains at this hour."

"Indeed," L replied with a sincere nod. "Though I almost feel I should be the one to apologize."

"Then that makes both of us two very sorry dudes," the man said.

L smiled in response. The stranger seemed innocuous from first impressions; a typical, good-natured young man doing some sketching on a subway.

He was tempted to look in the other direction and go back to his musing now that he knew the individual beside him was not a threat, though this young man sort of intrigued him. That and a little company right now was not a bad thing.

"So," L said, practically in a mumble, "are you an art student?"

"I'm a student of all art," Trevor replied proudly before pausing and giving a chuckle. "But technically I'm not formally studying it like in school or anything. I mostly do it as a hobby, am displayed in a few coffee shops and stuff like that."

"So you are a student of all art," L replied, actually feeling good about being in a conversation right now.

"Yeah, I guess that's not just a bullshit statement," Trevor said.

A small chuckle escaped L with his new companion following along.

"I'm Trevor, by the way," the man said, extending a hand.

L looked at his outstretched hand for a moment before awkwardly grabbing it.

"Ben," he replied, giving a limp shake before taking his hand back. He was about to subtly wipe it on the side of his jeans as a force of habit, but he made a sudden decision not to. Maybe this was a tiny act of trust he needed now.

The way Trevor glanced at him with a friendlier smile was hardly lost on L and he became more aware that Trevor was inching a little closer to his seat to where his black jacket rubbed against L's bare toes.

An awkward silence followed; the rumble of the train and the slight screech over the tracks the only sound between them.

"So, you from around here," Trevor asked, sounding just as awkward and sheepish as L felt right now.

"No, just playing tourist," L said.

"You couldn't have picked a better place," Trevor replied. "This is a macrocosm of some of the best of humanity; history, culture, creativity."

"Though what if I have little faith in humanity," L said, feeling like engaging in some intelligent conversation even if it was his own strange version of banter.

"Humanity isn't worthy of a lot of faith," Trevor replied without pause, "but it is worth the benefit of the doubt at least.

L nodded in response, a little more intrigued. This random individual was actually a thinker, or at least a smooth talker; both of which he could respect.

The sight of bright lights out the window distracted him again as the blackness of the tunnel parted to reveal the glowing Boston skyline as the train went over the Longfellow Bridge from Cambridge into Boston.

L glanced over at Trevor, seeing the same look of quiet awe that must have been on his own face.

"The beauty and ugliness of humanity is all out those windows," Trevor said. "Though all I see is beauty right now."

"Ugliness and beauty are relative I suppose," L replied, "as is humanity itself."

The clouds lingered thicker over the skylines, causing the entire sky to glow with gold and purple light. Silence remained as the two kept their gazes on this scene before the train ducked back into the tunnel and back into blackness.

Trevor leaned back in his seat and gave L another soft look with a calm smile.

"If you're a philosophy major I will be in denial," Trevor said. "You sound too bright for that."

"I'd like to think so," L replied. "Plus no I'm not a student…or I'm a student of all things."

"Snap," Trevor said with a dirty grin. "But seriously what do you do, going on the supposition that everyone does something."

"I'm an accountant," L replied, one of many different professions he could easily list off when in off-duty mode. Trevor's eyes slightly widened, clearly showing he was impressed if not amazed. "You?"

Trevor gave a nervous chuckle, obviously caught off guard by the question. He looked to the floor and L could see the gears turning for a similarly ostentatious story, though his face relaxed and he grimaced.

"I'm between jobs right now actually," he said with a look of calm embarrassment.

"The American economy is poor right now," he said with a shrug, "it's understandable."

Trevor's face slightly lightened up at the response as if he was happily surprised to hear it. L made note of the reaction; this one was either an excellent actor or actually sincere. For some reason he hoped for the latter.

The train took its characteristic slowdown and L saw brighter lights up ahead.

"Now entering Park Street," the electronic voice said. "Change here for the Green Line."

"I just love the voice of that pleasant electronic gentleman," Trevor said, looking up at the glowing LED sign on the ceiling.

L nodded, not even wanting to think on what he was going to do when the train stopped. Trevor too looked out the window at the glow of the platform with a look on his face as anxious as L felt now.

"Look, I know this awesome little coffee shop on Tremont Street, which is just a block away from this station," Trevor said in soft voice. "It's a hole in the wall, but some of my paintings are there and they make an espresso that will make you see God."

L casually brought his thumb to his mouth. Conversation on a train was one thing; following around a total stranger to an unknown destination was a bit different. In the end it was a bit more different than complete solitude; a coffee shop on Tremont Street was out in the open after all.

"I don't know, I have rather high taste in espresso," L said, "though I will see if I can be swayed."

A wide smile crept over Trevor's face; a smile that read pure joy, maybe success.

The train slowed as the fluorescent lights and red tiles of Park Street Station came into view.

--

"Seventeenth century, if I am not mistaken," L said, pointing at the images of winged skulls and willow trees that adored a row of gravestones in Trevor's painting. "A rather iconic image for the graves of Puritan-era Massachusetts."

The gravestones in the black and white painting popped out from the canvas, creating a window into another world aside from the gaudy green painted bricks of the wall of Ethyl's Perks coffee house. Five stones were lined up in a row with a skeletal hand reaching up through the dirt of the middle grave and grabbing a rose that sat on its own gravestone.

"The old cemetery in Salem is one of the best sketching sites in the universe," Trevor replied.

Trevor's shoulder gently rubbed against L's as he leaned forward to get a better view of the painting. L instinctively took a half step to the side, noticing the slight downturn to the sides of Trevor's mouth when he did so.

The sound of porcelain against the wooden counter behind them cued L to look back and see the young female barista put two demitasses of black liquid on the serving counter. Trevor also turned around; L stole a glance at him to see his small grimace was now a beaming smile.

"Be prepared to see God, now," Trevor said to L, scooping up one of the cups and saucers.

L took his own cup and motioned to the barista, who nodded before grabbing a small plate from the side of the counter as she reached into the glass pastry case. L looked away for a moment to see Trevor walking to the back of the room and taking a round booth in the corner upholstered with material bearing green and blue flowers.

Another clink on the counter made him look back and nod approvingly. The white plate was now completely filled with a pastry made from two spongy chocolate cakes sandwiching a thick dollop of vanilla cream; a local concoction known as a "whoopie pie."

L nodded to the barista, grabbing the cup and the plate eagerly and walking swiftly to the back of the room.

"I'm going to need to steal some of that," Trevor said matter-of-factly, looking at L's pastry.

L hopped onto one side of the bench and took his usual crouch, noticing a slight double take from the barista as Trevor observed this with amused curiosity.

"You like sitting like that, don't you," Trevor asked.

"It increases my mental function by 40 percent," L naturally replied, curious to see how Trevor would react to this one.

Trevor nodded, looking back at the barista before leaning back and curling his legs into the same position. L carefully tore off a small piece of the whoopie pie as Trevor sat with his knees to his chest.

"Is it working?" L asked, nibbling the end of one part of the cake.

"It's effectively digging my wallet into my side," Trevor said with a chuckle before kicking his legs out into their regular position. L felt the tip of a boot carefully brush against his leg in a motion too methodical to be an accident. "But it's effective for someone, you look completely relaxed."

L nodded, opposite feet peeling off both his sneakers and letting them carefully plop to the floor. He did hear one shoe accidentally bounce off Trevor's foot, prompting a small smile from Trevor as he looked down.

L grabbed the glass jar of sugar on the table and poured a steady stream into the cup. Trevor held his own cup to his mouth, though it barely concealed his smirk and chuckle. L paid no attention, watching the white crystals reach the side of the cup.

"Want some coffee with that?" Trevor said with a giggle.

L gently clasped the handle of his own demitasse with his thumb and two fingers and took his own airy sip. His eyes slightly closed in response as he gave a happy smile.

"Told ya," Trevor said.

"You were right," L said, "this is indeed excellent."

L tore off a larger piece of his pastry and gobbled it down, looking up and seeing Trevor eyeing it almost greedily. L licked the cream from the fingers of one hand as the other hand gently pushed the plate forward.

"I'll share my whoopie pie with you," L said.

Trevor smiled like a little kid, the tips of his fingers grabbing the untouched half.

"I promise I won't be greedy," he said, tearing off a large piece and gently shoving it in his mouth, his tongue licking the small amount of cream off the side of his mouth. "That's happiness. This is like the taste of childhood but grown up."

"I assume you are from this area, then," L said, a slender finger picking up a small dollop of cream. "If something as regional as this is a taste of childhood."

"I'm from Maine originally," Trevor said, rolling his eyes. "It's country hell up there; too many trees, too many old men in flannel shirts. In the winter the snow eats everything, in the summer the Canadians take over. So not fun."

L took a sip from his cup, the irony of Trevor's remarks about Canadians making him smile a little.

"Is that why you came to Boston?" L asked.

"See where I'm from Boston is 'the big city,'" Trevor replied, tearing off another small piece of whoopie pie. "Everyone else wants to go to New York, L.A., kids from Maine want to go to Boston and it's a hell of a lot easier to get to. That and Biddeford, Maine and I were just not made for each other; I mean you dress like me, you don't play football, and your obviously a flaming homo, no one tends to get you."

"That kind of openness is not welcomed in small towns," L said with a nod. "People tend to be too traditional and narrow minded to accept something outside their understanding."

"I had a feeling you knew where I was coming from," Trevor said. "What small town hell did you grow up in?"

"A small town in Canada," L said casually, a part of him thoroughly enjoying Trevor's sudden flush as he put his hand to his mouth with a nervous snicker.

"You'd better not be kidding me," Trevor said between giggles, laughing a bit harder at L's gentle head shake and smirk. "Wow do I look like an ass. If you say you're from Quebec or any of the Maritimes, I am really going to have to curl up somewhere."

"That won't be necessary," L said with a smile and a reassuring nod. He was tempted to say he was from around Vancouver, but that would be a small hemorrhage from a slightly reopened wound. Instead another small truth would suffice. "I'm from Alberta, a stone's throw from Edmonton."

"OK I feel less like an ass now," Trevor said. "Really sorry about that anyway."

"Don't be," L said with a wave of his hand, the other ripping off another large hunk of his whoopie pie. "You go to any city, state, province, country, what have you; they will always have some colloquialisms related to their neighbors."

"Very, very true," Trevor said with a nod.

Trevor's hand returned to the whoopie pie and he tore a piece off, his hand slightly brushing against L's. L held his own hand in place, feeling Trevor's flesh lightly brush against his own. Trevor's eyes locked with his for a moment before continuing their glance at the whoopie pie before his hand moved aside and brought the piece to his mouth.

This kind of motion was clearly a signal of interest, a physical manifestation of all the glances and pleasant conversations that had occurred since the train.

"But then again I have a sense that such borders, such definitions mean nothing to you," Trevor said leaning back against the bench. "You are just a person of your own world, perfectly content with your own reality."

L gazed at him for a moment while taking a sip of his espresso.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, his tone steady, almost cold.

"I mean just look at you, from the littlest things from how you're sitting to your reasoning," Trevor said, L catching a tone of slight awe in his voice. "You are just your own person in every way. To be honest I think it's beautiful."

L's wide eyes momentarily looked down as he processed what was just said.

"You think what I do is beautiful?" he asked, the sound of the words hitting a soft spot, yet he kept his perpetual guard.

Trevor folded his arms on the table and rested his head on his hands, gazing up into L's eyes with an almost loving look.

"I most certainly do and I envy you for your ability to express that," Trevor said with a look of what could have been complete sincerity.

It could have all been sweet words with one less-than-sincere goal, though L actually didn't care about subtext right now. He allowed himself to believe Trevor's words, to actually admit to himself he was enjoying his company; the company of someone he had barely known for an hour.

Trevor's goals, however, were clear given this short amount of time yet L was hardly bothered by that fact. He actually realized he welcomed it.

L gently placed one hand on the table, casually resting it close to where Trevor's hand sat. One of Trevor's fingers slowly reached out and gently caressed the back of L's hand. L looked up, seeing a gentle smile on Trevor's face as three fingers now rubbed the back of his hand.

L slightly slid his hand forward, his thumb angling upward and rubbing the side of Trevor's; all touches he savored.

"What time is it," L said, slightly straightening and looking around, yet not moving his hand. "I hope we're not keeping anyone past closing."

"It's 12:30 actually," the barista called from the back of the room where she was wiping down the counter. "And we close at 2, so you guys are fine."

L nodded, suddenly moving his hand though slightly flinching at the sudden interruption on his part. Trevor picked his head from the table, one hand taking his demitasse.

"Where are you staying," Trevor asked before slurping down the rest of his coffee.

"The Westin," L said, naming off one of the cheaper hotels in the city.

Trevor lowered his cup and smiled at him.

"I actually live a few blocks from there," he said, his happy tone betraying all of his intentions. "I see we'll be going in the same direction, maybe we could walk each other."

L felt as if he has fallen into a trap, but a trap he hardly minded; a trap he needed to be in, a trap that would save him from his solitude and give him more than a little relief.

"I certainly wouldn't mind the company," L said, allowing his reasoning to relax and his inner voice call through.

--

Trevor was indeed walking past a row of brownstones and keeping out in the open. L allowed himself some relief at the circumstances, though kept a constant watch on his surroundings.

The two had barely spoken since leaving the coffee shop a few minutes back. Trevor did have the same cigarette in his hand that he had lit up when they first got outside, showing he was remaining somewhat relaxed which could have been a good or a bad sign depending.

"Here we are," Trevor said, turning down a side street entrance and walking swiftly to a more modest looking building a block over.

L followed closely behind, examining the glowing, yet covered windows of the building and seeing all the usual signs of habitation; a glowing television or computer screen in one window, the outline of a person walking out of the room past another window, and other signs this building was indeed used as apartment space. There were going to be neighbors around, L reasoned, so if Trevor's intentions were more dishonorable there would be witnesses.

Trevor walked up a series of steps, putting a key in the front door and opening it. He walked in and kept the door open for his guest.

L hesitated for a moment at the base of the steps, the iron-clad side of his rationale loudly wondering what the hell he was doing. He was entering the residence of a total stranger knowing full well what his purpose was here; this was all an act of stupidity or madness.

Sneakers hit the brick steps hard and L was soon inside the door. This whole thing was not completely irrational; it was simply a risk. He had not defined what success meant in this case, though following Trevor into the hallway and up the steep set of stairs was success enough for him.

Trevor practically ran up the next six flights of stairs, L following close behind. Trevor then hopped up off the last stair to a long hallway on the third floor, taking a draw from his cigarette and twirling his round keychain on one finger.

He stopped in front of a simple door with the brass number 329 nailed on it, placing a key in the lock and pushing open the door.

This was the point of no return, though L's thought that he would simply pretend to receive a phone call and walk out the door was fleeting and almost embarrassing.

L walked in the door, carefully shutting it behind him. A moment later a single lamp came on near the door, giving L the full view of a mid-sized studio apartment.

The mass of paints around an easel by the window and stacks of sketches on a drafting table were a welcome sight; Trevor was indeed a serious artist and the sketchpad on the subway had not been a ruse, unless this was all part of an elaborate plan. Then again L really didn't give Trevor any credit for elaborate plans; he seemed too simple for that.

"Well, welcome to my home," Trevor said, walking to a dresser on the side while taking a deep draw from his cigarette before stamping it out in what was formerly a small pie plate. "It's messy as hell I know, but there are no cockroaches I swear."

"It's nice," L said, doing a closer inspection of the space.

It looked like a typical bachelor pad, though a bit cleaner. A bed in the corner had been neatly, if not hastily made. A few bottles of wine were placed neatly beside a large microwave on the counter in the kitchen area. It looked like he hadn't dusted in about a month, though everything else seemed somewhat neat.

L heard a sink running in what was probably a side bathroom followed by the characteristic sound of mouth rinsing and spitting; Trevor didn't want to taste like an ashtray.

"You want a glass of wine or something, maybe something to eat," Trevor said, throwing the jacket in his hand onto the floor and showing a baggy gray t-shirt underneath with a Beatles logo and many paint stains. "The cupboard is mostly peanut butter and cookies, but a filling meal."

"I'm fine, thank you," L replied, continuing his look around the apartment which he knew was distracting him at the moment.

His eyes went back to the easel by the window, seeing a canvas with what looked like the outline of a skyscraper. On closer inspection, the black form was around sketched-in windows and the word "Prudential" was over the top of the building.

L looked up, seeing the model itself directly out the window.

"You have an excellent view of the city from this space," L said, walking over to the window and seeing a good part of the skyline illuminated under thick clouds.

"Isn't it gorgeous," Trevor said, walking in L's direction. "I always look out this window before I paint, just infuses me with energy,"

L nodded, letting his hands rest on the low windowsill as he peered out at the city. From this third floor window he had wide view of the Back Bay, skyscrapers standing in quiet majesty against the orange clouds.

A hand softly brushed his shoulder before resting on the windowsill, upper arm still touching his.

L slightly closed his eyes, realizing he was savoring the feel of warm flesh against his own. It was an act of trust to stay in this one position; a trust he became greedy for.

L slowly moved his arm closer to Trevor's as his hand gently caressed the back of Trevor's hand. Trevor's hand turned upwards, gently clasping L's and receiving a clasp back; both sets of eyes still outside the window yet both could feel each others pulses quicken.

L slowly turned his head around, seeing Trevor still looking out the window, though his smile widened and a giddy expression was now on his face. Trevor then turned his head, looking deep into L's dark eyes.

Trevor's pools of dark blue glowed with life, a stark contrast to what L saw in the mirror everyday. It was a life he wanted to experience, to savor with every bit of his being and in this moment he saw someone he who could help him with that.

Trevor smiled wider, his other hand boldly reaching out and clutching L's shoulder. L allowed himself to be pulled closer, staring into those blue pools. His hand let go of Trevor's and he suddenly grabbed Trevor's shoulders. Trevor pulled him in, their lips soon touching.

L was startled by the action at first, but threw all apprehension away. He was not used to an act this pure, but refused to be self conscious.

L pulled Trevor deeper into the kiss, knowing his act was awkward but he hardly cared. Hands clutched his shoulders harder and slowly ran down the back of his sweatshirt. This drove him further, causing his own hands to run up the bald sides of Trevor's head before clutching onto his green hair, wanting nothing more than to connect with this human being as deeply as he could.

He was soon aware his body was moving forward, pushing Trevor hard against the wall next to the window; his tongue gently moving outward and connecting with Trevor's. Trevor's hands moved further down his back, briefly caressing his backside before sneaking under his sweatshirt.

L's hands moved across Trevor's shoulders, his body pressing further into his as hands touched his bare torso. The feel of a gently hand over his still-sensitive scar, however, caused him to audibly flinch.

Trevor pushed him back for a second with a look of concern. L took a breath and shook his head before pulling Trevor's body back into his. Their kiss resumed, L making up for his momentary interruption by placing his hands on Trevor's waist and sneaking them underneath his t-shirt, feeling tight muscles under a slight spare tire.

Trevor's own hands tentatively went up L's sweatshirt again, avoiding the area that caused him to flinch. L was now aware his sweatshirt was being pulled up to his mid-torso, but smiled and took a small step back, reaching his arms up and allowing Trevor to remove his shirt.

L took hold of the sweatshirt and tossed it on the floor, pressing his bare torso against Trevor's as his own hands lifted the bottom of his t-shirt. Trevor put his own hands on the shirt and did the rest, bare flesh now pressing against bare flesh as their kiss deepened and hands further wandering.

Trevor wrapped his arms around L's body, forcibly bringing him forward away from the wall and walking him to the bed. L opened his eyes slightly and saw where Trevor was leading him, his apprehension returning for a split second before being shoved away as L's hands wandered to the waistband of Trevor's jeans.

"So what's you're preference," Trevor whispered in his ear before his lips trailed down L's neck.

"Seme," he replied without hesitation, not even knowing if Trevor would understand what he meant.

"I can work with that," Trevor said with a chuckle, spinning L around and collapsing on the bed, L gaining his balance and falling on top of him.

This was real now, L thought as the usual process of further undressing began. He was now about to engage in an intimate act with a random stranger he had just met on the subway in Boston.

He had been in this position a few times before, but always with a professional at this sort of thing who received the proper testing and inoculations. L would pay them large sums of money to give him complete control to get out his natural urges before moving on with his life.

This was completely different, an uncontrolled environment where all the factors were based on chance. A random encounter like this could lead to unfortunate circumstances; then again so could crossing the street.

For L, it was exactly what he needed right now; a moment of complete controlled chaos, a connection with an actual human being far removed from his usual universe.

He cleared his mind as his body took part in the usual routine. His instincts returned to their usual guarded focus, at first keeping his partner's hands away from his body and his mind entering its usual selfish disconnect in this scenario.

The feeling of hands running up his arms broke that thought process. He allowed himself to close his eyes and just experience everything.

Trevor's hands ran up his sides, caressing the scar again though L forced away any discomfort this brought. That scar was a reminder of why he had to do this; he had to actually live before that option was formally taken away.

His own hands caressed up Trevor's chest and he felt Trevor pull him further down, his lips trailing up his neck and the two again locked in a deep kiss.

A sigh escaped L's lips similar to a sob; he was letting go, giving in fully, allowing himself to savor the moment. It was one of the best feelings he had ever known.

He lost all track of time, having no idea how long this pure moment had gone on for though not caring. At last the sighs became louder, bodies tense, and then the natural end.

L came to a sit before collapsing on the bed next to Trevor. Trevor turned on his side, giving L a beaming smile as he kissed him.

L wrapped his arms around Trevor, sharing the gentle kiss before his head rested on his partner's shoulder and he gave in to a peaceful sleep.


	4. Part 4

Calculated Risks

**Calculated Risks**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities

**Part 4**

**April 19, 2009**

**Los Angeles**

Matt had given Mello another five minutes before he completely lost it, though the sand on that hourglass was rushing down at hurricane speeds by the second.

He tossed the remainder of his cigarette into the street and looped his thumbs in his pockets, trying not to look too much at his friend walking beside him.

The heels of Mello's boots clicked loudly against the sidewalk as if every step was a subtle-as-possible stomp at the universe. Bare arms were folded across his chest and his face, even behind a curtain of blond hair, was in a sour expression that rapidly constricted.

They had left the Museum of Contemporary Art en route for Matt's tiny apartment five minutes ago and hadn't said a word. Matt could swear he heard growling at one point.

He really could blame Mello for nothing.

The resonating metallic crash of a boot meeting a mailbox officially signaled the end of the unstable peace.

Matt took a few casual steps back and kept his gaze at the passing cars while taking his pack of cheap generic cigarettes from his pocket. He shook the pack and took one out with his teeth just as an elbow and then a fist bashed at the mailbox followed by a few curses encased by whimpers.

He returned the pack to his pocket and lit his cigarette, slowly turning back toward Mello and being prepared for flying fists.

Mello's hair hung over his face and his arms grabbed the sides of the box before he kicked it a few more times in rapid succession. The strength in his leg was lost amid a wave of trembling. He folded his arms over the top and Matt clearly saw one tear streak down his face cheek before he buried his head in his arms. A mass of grunts resembling sobs then poured from him with a few curses sprinkled in.

That mailbox was the only stability he needed; something to hold him up and on which he could take out his frustrations as everything was collapsing anyway. It was a sense of déjà vu he really didn't need right now.

Mello did not want to cry and fought the urge with every bit of strength he had. He knew, however, he needed to make an exception at some point whenever L was involved for the sake of the last remaining bits of sanity he had.

His life covered him with scabbed-over wounds, though this was his one gaping sore and a bag of road salt had just been heaped on it.

His breathing calmed some clarity shone through the chaos of those burned-in images of L's face staring back at him from that wall, the sight of which caused him more pain than the supposed circumstances behind how that image was captured.

Mello gave a heaving sigh, the realization becoming a bit clearer. He couldn't have given a damn about Trevor Skye's supposed weekend tryst with L or L's moment as nude model. Ultimately the circumstances were a sweet story that Mello had heard a million times with different characters.

The fact one of those characters was L was a little harder to wrap his head around, though only for the individual. Everything else seemed typical, a word that never could be used to describe L…or could it? It was that reality that rubbed against the wound a little more.

Mello raised his head from his arms and pushed one side of his hair behind his ears; a few stubborn tears cleared away with the back of a gloved hand. He saw Matt casually standing a few feet away taking careful drags from his cigarette, though his eyes would stiffly float to the side to check on him.

"You took fucking photos," Mello asked with a tone of incredulity, voice still shaking though finding its strength fast.

Matt's eyes fell on him in a clear gaze of concern.

"Let's just get back to the apartment, man," he said in an almost pained tone. "It's been kind of a rough night."

Mello glared at him for a moment before pushing himself off the mailbox, giving it one last kick before coming back beside his friend. He took a few deep breaths and tried to steady his legs as he walked a few steps ahead of Matt, who carefully followed.

* * *

"I'm grabbing a beer, you want one," Matt said, walking toward the refrigerator in the tiny side kitchen next to the living room.

Mello savored the light break in the stifling silence with those few simple words from his friend.

"Yeah, sure," he replied, sitting up a little in the plush orange couch Matt must have found at a yard sale somewhere.

Mello took his elbows off his knees to sweep back the hair from his face, allowing himself to recline on the back of the couch as his hands took a position behind his aching head.

His eyes fell to the ceiling and focused on all of the cracks and water stains as if they were a peaceful mantra clearing his mind. Mello's concentration was broken by the sight of a brown bottle waved in front of his face.

Mello grabbed the bottle and took a long swig of the pungent contents, the small bit of alcohol tingling in his sinuses enough to bring him back to reality a bit more. He looked over to see Matt practically rip the red silk shirt off his body and throw it on the floor before scooping his favorite striped shirt off a ratty recliner and pull it over his torso.

"Would you be too offended if I burned that fucking thing," Matt said, giving the silk shirt a kick with his bare foot.

"It was your three bucks," Mello said with a tired smirk. "You piss it away that's your problem."

Matt grabbed his own beer off a small end table, leaping over the arm of the recliner and plopping down with a happy grunt.

Mello took another swig, leaning forward again and resting his elbows on his knees while keeping his gaze to the floor. The silence resumed save for the metallic click of a lighter and the loud tap of said lighter being thrown on the coffee table.

Another minute must have passed, though the one sound Mello was not hearing was the tinging electronic soundtrack of any of Matt's game systems.

Mello sipped his beer, the action giving him an excuse to look up to see what Matt was doing. His old friend's feet were on the coffee table, body reclined between one arm and the back of the chair. Matt's gaze went between the ceiling and the coffee table as he took casual drags from his cigarette and light sips from the bottle.

Green eyes cautiously trailed in Mello's direction for a moment before returning to their usual gazing areas.

"You know if you had your goggles on I wouldn't see you looking at me that way," Mello said.

"You'd see it anyway," Matt said, blowing a couple smoke rings. "You're just good like that."

Mello grimaced and took a hard swig.

"So Matt," Mello said with a tone of forced cheer. "What do you make of what we have seen this evening? If someone's going to clear the elephant from the room, it might as well be a joint effort."

Matt took a slow drag, staring up at the ceiling and carefully wording whatever he was going to say next.

"You want my honest opinion," he said, looking at Mello, "I think this whole thing is just fucking weird."

Mello nodded slowly, though kept his gaze fixed on Matt which was more than a little unnerving.

"How do you figure?" Mello asked.

"I mean, look at who we're talking about," Matt said, swinging his feet off the coffee table and planting them on the floor as he leaned forward. He knew now was the time to choose his words carefully, though bluntness was always his best policy. "If the story's true, which I'm still on the fence if it is, it means the great L, the great hides-himself-behind-a-letter detective genius, posed nude for some fucker he met on the subway; some random dude he allegedly slept with. I have to say even that's just blowing my mind a little. If this Skye dude's telling the truth, does that mean L was gay?"

"And what if he was gay, Matt!" Mello snapped. "Does that make a bit of fucking difference to you?"

"Dude, chill," Matt said, holding up a hand. "I'm not a homophobe. I don't give a flying fuck if L was gay, straight, a stripper, married with five kids, whatever. But that's the point, isn't it."

Mello's glare still bored through Matt, though he cocked an eyebrow in curiosity; having an idea what his friend was getting to.

"All he was to us was L, that's it," Matt continued, speaking carefully as if everything was coming to him slowly, his own realization carefully unfolding. "I mean we were probably the only kids at Wammy's House who knew what he even looked like let alone met him in person and what we saw sure as hell wasn't everything. And tonight we find this out? I don't know if this is a blessing or a curse."

Mello relaxed his glare and nodded, taking his chocolate bar off the couch and biting off a corner.

"I know what you mean," Mello said with a hard sigh. "He was a god to us when we were kids. This whole thing means that dying wasn't the only thing that made him human; the fucker actually lived."

"There's a lesson in here somewhere, young Padawan," Matt said, taking a long swig of his beer.

Mello nibbled a corner of his chocolate, staring down at the coffee table.

"That's why you took the photos wasn't it," Mello asked, looking up at Matt.

Matt shrugged, taking one last drag of his cigarette and snuffing it out on a yellow ashtray on the coffee table.

"We're apprentice detectives, bud," Matt said. "It's called gathering evidence, or having proof we weren't hallucinating."

"I want to see them," Mello said, turning off his mind and every trace of internal protest. He had to face those paintings again, face one of the greatest pains of his life.

"You sure about that," Matt said. "You promise me you won't delete them or break my phone."

"Fucking pinkie swear, now just hand me the damn phone," Mello said.

Matt took a cigarette out of a pack on the table and put it in his mouth with a sigh before reaching into his pocket and producing his phone. He handed the phone to Mello before picking his lighter off the coffee table.

Mello flipped the phone open with one hand, scrolling through the menu before coming to the picture folder. He took a large bite of chocolate, finger frozen over the button before he finally shoved it down.

L's candlelit profile was the first thing that came on the screen. Mello looked up from the image for a moment, clearing his thoughts and slowly looking back down. He stared at the image, seeing that usual intense look in his idol's black-rimmed eyes though there was a sense of peace in L's expression.

Mello nodded to himself, finding the strength in his finger to scroll to the next one back; the most intimate one.

L's entire nude form was now fully exposed on the screen, shadows covering the most intimate areas though the scene was obvious.

The image itself was one grand metaphor for L, a realization that made Mello smile a little; for one moment L laid himself bare before a total stranger, though not everything was revealed to the world. Mysteries still existed behind the shadows and L's smirk was almost mocking an audience that longed for more.

He would never be fully revealed; he never was in life and probably not in death. Even the artist probably never cracked that adamantine exterior.

Mello closed the phone and let his hand drop to the couch. The corner of his chocolate bar was once again between his teeth and the cracking sound of each bite was the only sound in the room.

"Tell me the story of how you met him," Mello said, the side of his head resting on the couch.

"You were pretty much there when it happened," Matt said.

"I want to hear you tell it," Mello said.

Matt chuckled, taking a long draw while letting his own head fall back.

"Oh Jesus," Matt said, pausing for a few seconds. "One of the greatest moments in my life, I never thought it would be this hard to tell. I remember Roger had me go up to Mr. Wammy's apartment to fetch you. Now that in itself was a big deal, remember how we never knew where Mr. Wammy lived, it was like behind so many secret entrances that always seemed to change."

"Oh believe me, I tried to break in on several occasions. He was too quick for me."

"Well Roger told me the latest combinations, what doors to open, all that fun shit. I get in no problem, see Mr. Wammy there, he says something like I've been expected. So I tell him I'm looking for you, he says 'I'll fetch him' and tells me to come into the kitchen for some cupcakes."

"Those had better been some kick ass cupcakes. I did all the mixing myself."

"He takes me through the apartment, and you know that place was fucking huge, two floors in just this one section of the house. He leads me in the kitchen, goes to get you…and that's when I saw this guy standing there, leaning against the doorway taking these dainty little bites out of a cupcake."

Matt paused, feeling the back of his throat tightening a bit at the memory. Mello gazed at him with a small smile, knowing everything that must have been going through his head.

"I remember the first time I saw him, I thought he was a stoner or something," Matt said with a laugh. "But he seemed perfectly collected. He reached onto the counter and gets a cupcake, holds it out like he wants me to take it, and I did.

He said something like 'you're Matt right?' I said 'Yeah.' He kind of nods, takes this huge bite, then he says 'I'm L by the way.' God I thought I was going to piss my pants right there. I think I must have stared at him for a second because he asked me if I was going to finish my cupcake. Then you and Mr. Wammy came down and he pretty much shooed us along.

Then L said 'I've been watching your progress, Matt. You do well, so well you are just behind Mello and Near to be my successor.' Then that was it, from there Mr. Wammy just pushed us along and L walked off. It came and went so fast. You know I wanted to hate you for spending more time with him than I did, but I just couldn't. Like…like I thought I saw everything. God I wish I hadn't been right about that."

"You shouldn't have been. There should have been more moments like that, Matt; but Kira did away with that option."

Matt sighed hard before taking a hasty draw from his cigarette. He would never know how much L's death truly affected him; maybe he never wanted to know.

"I remember I practically harassed Roger for weeks to meet him," Mello said. "This was right after he said Near and I were L's heirs. I remember saying 'If we're his fucking heirs why can't he tell us in person.' Roger wasn't too amused with that, though I think it impressed L, word traveled fast to him.

I remember I got the same instructions you did, well maybe not the same but anyway. Mr. Wammy just greeted me and left. That's when I met L, but I don't think I'll ever want to recount the particulars. I just remember being part asshole and part fanboy, and he just seemed to take it all in like he was carefully analyzing me. We started chatting, mostly about me, my interests, stuff like that. Then he got into a story about my predecessor."

"Beyond fucking Birthday, the phantom of Wammy's House," Matt said, recalling all the legends that passed through the halls at midnight.

"One story became three. Then, I kid you not around 3 a.m. he showed me this recipe he had for raspberry truffle cupcakes. We made like two dozen of them and between the two of us, most of them were gone before daybreak."

Mello propped his elbow on the arm rest, letting his head fall onto the back of his hand.

"I never wanted to see him as just this godlike figure and he knew that, that's why he arranged that meeting. He was truly real to me, Matt; like a brother almost."

"You think Near ever met him?"

"I know he did, he told me as much though it was only for a second. Just got a glance at him and apparently refused to talk to him. Said something to me about he didn't want to personalize himself with him. I think a few other kids asked him if they met him and he flat out denied it; said it was just that one time over the computer when he talked to all of us."

"If L was weird, Near was weirder," Matt said.

"But I'm still going to beat him," Mello practically hissed, another pain that wouldn't let go. "Near didn't know L like I did, he's probably treating this whole mess like another fucking puzzle; but it's more than that."

Mello moved his head from his hand, fingers slowly forming into a fist around Matt's cell phone. He kept his gaze forward as he unclenched his fist and turned the phone out, one finger folding it open and revealing the painting of L.

Matt nodded, having an idea what Mello was getting at.

"This is why I'm doing this, Matt," Mello said, glaring at Matt, who saw his friend practically shaking. "This isn't just about me and Near and this isn't just about getting Kira. This is about L; this is about seeing L's killer destroyed. He was a fucking human; just 25-years-old and just simply cut down." His tone steadily grew louder and more strained, sobs sneaking out between growls. "What we saw tonight, what Trevor Skye told us, shows us he truly lived his life and I'm going to cut down the bastard who took it from him; return the fucking favor."

Mello tossed the cell phone on the coffee table, taking a few hard breaths to try to calm himself.

Matt leaned forward and snuffed out his cigarette before looking up at Mello; a fire slowly being lit in his own mind fueled by that one memory of a brief moment in time.

"It'll happen, Mello," Matt said. "I'm sure of it."


	5. Part 5

**Calculated Risks**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities

_Playing with prodigal sons  
Takes a lot of sentimental valiums  
Can't expect the world to be your Raggedy Andy  
While running on empty  
You little old doll with a frown_

Rufus Wainwright, "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk"

**Part 5**

**June 1, 2003**

**Boston**

The small, digital alarm clock on a stack of milk crates beside the bed said 9 a.m. when L first woke up. At first estimate, he actually got seven hours of sleep this morning; probably the most he had in at least a few years.

A sound sleep was one of the physiological effects of sex; the action triggering certain chemicals in the brain connected with pleasure and relaxation while the act itself was a form of exercise.

The last time he was with anyone was nearly two years ago, maybe there was a connection. He thought with half a smirk that he should study this further.

Another effect in the form of relaxation had come to him at last, the entire purpose for his weekend off to begin with; maybe he had actually found an activity that worked.

L shifted his position slightly from the couch, looking past the blanketed mound that was Trevor's sleeping form to see the clock again.

11:05 a.m. He had been sitting on the couch for two hours; boxer shorts and jeans replaced on his body after a moment of freshening up in the bathroom, sweatshirt still lying on the floor a few feet from the window where it had been tossed earlier that morning.

L had turned off the lamp on the bookcase that had been on all night, letting the only light in the room be the cloud-covered daylight that filtered in the apartment from the thin curtains.

He could follow the path they had taken since entering the apartment; Trevor's sketchpad on the table, his jacket still on the floor by the door, both shirts thrown down by the window. Trevor's corduroys were still in a heap with his briefs next to the bed.

Where the path would lead from here was something L was still debating.

Leaving without a trace would have been easy. Trevor was lightly snoring, clearly in a deep and peaceful slumber. L could have collected his sweatshirt, put his sneakers on, and left the apartment. Trevor wouldn't know until after he woke up, and by the looks of it that could have been another couple of hours.

L lightly nibbled on the nail of his index finger; that option was tempting, though not particularly enticing.

As much as he found himself glancing in the direction of the door, one thought nagged at him and practically nailed him to his current perch. Leaving now, without indication and with no word, would be disrespectful considering how intimate they had been several hours ago.

This wasn't an escort he could pay and dismiss; such was the pitfall of having these kinds of relations with a "regular" person.

Regret was a word that crossed his mind a couple times. Acting out of emotion and not reason had strong consequences to the emotion while tying the reason; he should have taken that into account before he got himself into this.

He wanted to regret this action, though the thought was floating far away from his conscience and only hovering in his logic.

No, he didn't regret what he did; it was an ultimate conclusion he made with surprising ease.

L smiled to himself at the thought, the realization freeing him. Of course it was an easy conclusion; of course he had no reason to regret what happened that morning. His concept for this "relaxing" weekend was just to come to Boston and be the lone tourist, a notion that even after a few hours in the city was in need of serious rethinking.

A little adventure in some form was healthy for him, in fact vital; he needed to get out of his head for a little while, experience something new, play the role of the "normal person" in a more involved way than he usually did.

He managed to stretch his legs from their usual position, prying himself off the worn, yet comfortable couch and come to a stand. A moment of stretching his muscles later, L lightly padded over to the window and looked down at his sweatshirt on the floor.

The toes of his right foot caught a hold on the fabric and lifted it up to his waiting grasp as he looked through the window at the fog-enveloped Back Bay.

Just the sight of the wet mist in the air and the darkened, wet streets made him put his shirt on with a little more enthusiasm. His eyes moved from the window to the rest of the apartment, trailing across various paintings that leaned against the wall in small, upright piles.

He walked over to one pile, taking a look at a painting of two skeletons dressed in Hawaiian shirts and grass skirts doing a clumsy hula dance; their broad-brimmed hats and cameras around their bony necks seemed to make some statement on tourists.

L's eyes wandered upward, catching immediately on an image that had been actually nailed to the wall; mounted with what looked like great care actually.

An elderly man with full, stark-white hair leaned against a small, twisted tree and looked at the camera with a beaming smile. L took a closer look at the photo in a simple mahogany frame. The quality and lighting indicated a simple snapshot and the man's white polo shirt and the cuff of a pair of khaki shorts showed the photo was taken during the summer in a sandy area; it was probably a snapshot from a vacation somewhere.

This one image framed and mounted with care while the rest of Trevor's images were scattered around; this photo, or more likely the man in the photo, had to have some significance with Trevor. Maybe this could make for conversation later.

He slowly walked back in the direction of the couch, tempted to sort through the piles of paintings. Getting his own view of them would be one thing, but the artist himself would probably be more interested in sharing the story of each.

Preparing for casual conversation with somebody was apparently a momentous task; but then he almost never had idle conversation with anybody unless he was snaking out information or trying to understand their motives. Maybe idle chit chat was a skill he needed to learn; a skill he might need in the future…a skill he might need should he live long enough to make that leap into a normal life.

L took another look out the window, seeing the slight glow through the clouds of the sun trying to burn through though having little luck. He looked down to the street, seeing various passers by on whatever Sunday morning business they had.

A young woman with long, clearly dyed auburn hair stopped by the building, her eyes turning directly up at the window.

L casually moved to the side so he was out of view, but he saw her gaze remain on him as she pulled a phone out of the front pocket of her black denim overalls. He hugged the wall, sure he was completely out of view; eyes firmly locked on this woman as he felt his breath catch in his chest.

A shrill ring pierced through the apartment from the cordless phone next to the couch.

Trevor practically leapt to a sit, rubbing his eyes for a second before jumping on his feet. He reached to the floor and grabbed his briefs, putting them on as he looked for Ben's clothing on the floor.

The phone rang again as Trevor noticed Ben's boxers and jeans were gone, his own half-asleep mind yelling in anger before he looked up.

Ben was still there, thankfully; leaning against the wall fully clothed and looking out the window with a vexed expression.

"Oh thank you, God," Trevor said, managing to walk over to the couch and pick up the phone.

He looked at Ben again as the phone rang for the third time, exchanging glances as he blew a kiss to his new friend. Trevor then pressed the "talk" button, trying to reorient himself from the sudden awakening.

"Hello," he said, trying to sound chipper through grogginess.

"Hey sleepyhead," a familiar voice said.

L could hear the shrill female voice over the phone, seeing the words and corresponding body language match up with the woman leaning against the building.

It must have been one of Trevor's friends. L took a breath, a tiny inner voice scolding himself for being so on edge for what was clearly a normal situation.

"Morning sunshine," Trevor said in a sweet voice with a profound eye roll.

"Did you get my message last night?" the voice said. "I seriously hope you didn't."

"What you didn't want me to hear you a little tipsy," Trevor said, walking over to kitchenette and opening a cupboard over the sink. "I thought you my have been doing some self-medicating."

Trevor looked back over at L, seeing him leaning against the wall and looking out the window; expression from annoyed to mildly curious. The two made eye contact and Trevor pointed to the window mouthing "someone outside?"

L nodded, smiling slightly at Trevor looking to the ceiling and shaking his fist.

"Yeah I had kind of a rough night," the voice said.

"Well, I guess I don't blame you," Trevor said, hand burrowed into the open cupboard. "I know what that mood is like."

He pulled out two cellophane packages, holding one up for L to see a chocolate frosted cupcake. L pulled himself from the wall and nodded, hands open for the cake Trevor threw to him.

L caught the cake and carefully examined the plastic, checking the seal and making sure there were no tears in the wrapper. After a few seconds, he tore open the cellophane, giving the cupcake a cursory sniff before taking a small bite.

"Though it looks like you had some of your own fun last night," the woman said with a giggle. L leaned against the wall again, seeing the woman looking back up at the window. He took another bite of his pastry and stepped slightly into view, the woman's smile widening. "Caught a hot little goth boy did we? He's really cute, by the way; love the hair."

Trevor looked back at L, who turned to give him a stiff smile before looking back out the window.

"Oh that's just Ben," Trevor said nervously.

"Any of the Ben's I've met or is this a new Ben," the woman said.

L gave Trevor another glance, prompting Trevor to scratch his head uncomfortably.

"No, it's…um…Ben from Canada," Trevor said.

L chuckled at this one, taking even more amusement out of Trevor's growing discomfort.

"He was a student at Northeastern and we hung out a little," Trevor continued, pulling himself more together. "He went back home for a while but he came back to get some transcripts. Unfortunately his hotel wouldn't accept his credit card, so he called me and I offered him a place to crash for the weekend."

Trevor had made up that story on the spot and, while it was clearly flimsy, it was clever and L had to give him some credit for that.

"Okay then," the woman said, clearly not believing the story. "Maybe I can come up and meet him."

"Look, Jade, I don't think that would be a very good idea," Trevor said, pacing in a circle on one spot on the floor, rubbing one of the bald sides of his head. "Jade, we seriously have to talk sometime and now is not a good time at all and you know the billion different reasons why. I just want to take the weekend to get my head together, relax a little, hang out with Ben before he goes back. Then we can have a serious talk."

L saw the woman, Jade, lean against the wall taking a drag from her cigarette with a frustrated expression.

"You're right, Trevor," Jade said. "We do need to have a nice sit-down. I…I'm sorry I'm shoving all this at you so soon."

"It's okay, sweetums," Trevor said, though L caught more of a strain. "I promise you the second I get a better moment I'll call you."

"Okay, I love ya bunches," Jade said, her chipper tone returning.

She folded her phone, looked back up at the window, and waved.

"Bye, Ben from Canada," L heard her yell up through the thin window.

L produced a fake smile and a wave before she put her phone back in her pocket and walked off, crossing the street with a lingering look back at the window.

He walked over to the couch, seeing Trevor lean against at the table and look at the phone with a pained expression.

"I take it that wake-up was rather unwelcome," L said, hopping onto the couch and coming to a crouch.

"It's a long, melodramatic story," Trevor said, placing the phone on the table and walking over to the bureau by the door.

He opened one drawer and pulled out a pair of paint-stained jeans before putting them on. He opened another drawer, rummaging through a pile of what looked to be t-shirts. He pulled out a plastic pirate sword, looking at it with a chuckle, before tossing it aside and grabbing a black t-shirt.

Trevor spun around, putting the shirt on, and looking at his guest.

L's elbows rested on his knees as he took small bites from his cupcake, pointed tongue licking gobs of cream filling. His eyes were on Trevor, the two really noting each other's presence for the first time since the events of earlier that morning.

Trevor reached to the floor and picked up the pirate sword; a curved toy with a gold handle and white, dull "blade." He swung it around dramatically before spinning it on his index finger and strutting to the couch like a model.

Wide gray eyes looked up at him in calm curiosity, following him as he dropped to his knees. Trevor folded his arms across L's knees, a motion that L took a second to get used to though he made no indications of any discomfort. Trevor's nose was now an inch from his. He drew his head back slightly, but gradually moved it back forward.

He was getting slightly more comfortable with Trevor's close proximity, though only through a few deep breaths and some stretches of will. Within a few seconds his presence was actually welcome.

"I should be making you pancakes right now," Trevor said, "because you were un-fucking-believable."

He leaned in and gave L a peck on the nose. L's eyes widened with the gesture, a happy smile soon following.

"I greatly enjoyed myself," L said, trying to find all the right words. "You were also most excellent."

L's eyes looked away for a moment, though they fell back on Trevor's, which continued to gaze at him. It was actually a comfortable moment and growing warmer by the second.

He leaned his head in, lips rubbing against Trevor's in a tentative gesture. Trevor's lips enveloped his with gusto, a movement that L took as complete acceptance and a further welcome.

L leaned his head in further, allowing the kiss to deepen as he tentatively put a hand behind Trevor's neck. Trevor's arms wrapped around his body, fingers caressing his spine and making him lean in further; apprehension close to gone as their tongues entwined, both giving light sighs.

Trevor's other hand pressed against his back, the plastic sword handle soon digging into his back and the soft plastic blade pushing against the back of his head.

The dull ache made L pull back, hair pressing further against the sword. Trevor blinked a few times, looking up and seeing the blade pointed in the air.

"Wow," Trevor said, "I am a complete dork."

His arms swung around and he leapt to his feet, sword swinging.

"Arr, me hearties, this be a dull day for piratin,'" Trevor said in a mock pirates voice. "Let's stay in with the wenches."

"And who would those be," L said with an innocent look and a bite from his cupcake.

"Arr we can take turns," Trevor replied in his regular voice, swinging the sword around. "This thing gets good air velocity."

"Do you use that thing for sketching or did you just happen to have a toy pirate sword in your drawer?"

"It was part of my Halloween costume last year," Trevor said, posing with the sword outstretched. "I was a corporate pirate; wore a suit, eye patch, pirate sword. I think it was a statement of some sorts, but I was just lazy."

Trevor spun around with the sword, pointing it straight at L and walking forward with a swagger. L put the remainder of his cupcake in his mouth and kept a cool gaze on Trevor; this scene making him a little more uncomfortable for some reason.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a dust brush laying on the floor next to the couch with a wooden handle and mass of cottony-puff for the main duster. He made no signals he had noticed this, keeping his gaze on Trevor coming at him with the sword and deciding some more frivolity was in order.

Trevor was now a couple inches from him as he suddenly did a side roll off the couch, grabbing the duster, and coming to his feet a second later; ends of the duster in each hand as he held it out like a miniature quarter staff.

"Holy shit you're nimble," Trevor said, eyes wide in amazement.

His eyes soon narrowed as his partner's stance suggested some more play. Trevor swung the sword at L, who blocked it with the duster. Trevor gave another swing, the "blade" meeting the end of the handle.

"Aha, pirate versus ninja," Trevor declared. "I speak pirate, you speak…do you speak Japanese?"

"I do actually," L said, following Trevor's sword movements and deciding to let a little more out for the sake of the conversation. "One branch of my family tree."

"Oh, God, you're part Japanese?" Trevor said in a tone of awe, lowering the sword for a second. "Will you marry me right now?"

L responded with the handle of the duster lightly slapping against Trevor's leg. Trevor gave an "arr" as he swung the plastic sword again.

"So you're Japanese, but what else are you," Trevor asked with a dirty grin. "If I may, my gaydar is pegging you for one of those rare, 50/50 bisexuals. Pretty, yet butch."

L pondered the question for a moment. He really never though of himself in terms of any sexual orientation, but Trevor's assessment was probably the closest way he could identify himself. Then again any clinical definition of sexual orientation included an emotional component.

"I don't like labels," L said with a calm smirk, "I think they are best for fruits."

"Oh snap," Trevor said, lunging forward. "Even if you're not gay, both of us sure look it now."

L lightly smacked Trevor's hand and caught the handle of the sword with the end of the duster. With a flick of his wrist, the sword fell across the floor and L stepped forward. Both hands were on each end of the duster as he put it over Trevor's head, pressing it behind his back, and pulling him towards him.

"Oh you have caught me, you villain," Trevor said in the voice of a distressed damsel. "What wretched things will you do to me?"

"How about this," L said, pulling Trevor closer and locking him in a kiss.

Trevor's hands crept across L's sides and his arms were soon around his waist, pulling him closer as their kiss deepened. L dropped the duster and heard it clatter on the floor as his hands ran up Trevor's back.

He allowed Trevor to lightly turn him around as Trevor's arms moved to his shoulders. One arm then wrapped around one shoulder; another hand resting on the other shoulder as Trevor suddenly pulled his weight upward and swung his legs out. L's arm found Trevor's legs in a second, his weight making him lean back slightly. L realized his legs were against the couch and he came to a heaving sit, muscles tightened if he had to throw Trevor off.

"That was cheeky," L said.

Trevor pulled him in closer for another kiss, before pulling back and letting his back recline against L's arm.

"If someone told me last night that I would be spending the next afternoon in the arms of a handsome, part-Japanese accountant I would think they were crazy," Trevor said with a sigh, one hand running through L's hair.

"Your ultimate fantasy is fulfilled," L said dourly.

"Well my ultimate fantasy involves Trent Reznor, but I'll take this," Trevor said, leaning in for another kiss. "I think an Italian gondola is there somewhere, but I digress."

L's hands fell to Trevor's shoulders and slowly guided him off his lap, though their kiss never broke. He was becoming quite used to this, enjoying it in fact.

Trevor's hands ran down his back and trailed upwards again under his sweatshirt, caressing his bare back. His hands were once again on the bottom of the shirt and gently pulling it up.

L held his arms up and let Trevor remove his shirt once again. One event was probably leading to another, though he didn't mind either way. He was comfortable now; not particularly anxious to have another go though not skittish at all either. It was actually nice to feel the warmth of another person right now.

Trevor's lips trailed down his neck, L's hands running down Trevor's arms and keeping his hands in check as a precaution. Trevor's kisses were now coming up his jaw, nose lightly rubbing across his ear.

"You want to know one thing I would absolutely love to do with you if you let me," Trevor said in his ear. "Indulge one little urge."

"Depends on what you have in mind," L said.

Trevor's lips rubbed against his cheek and he slightly pulled away, letting their eyes lock.

"I would like to paint you," Trevor said, his hand caressing L's shoulder and running down his chest. "Capture your beauty."

L planted a calm glare on him that was a little colder than he thought given Trevor's exaggerated flinch.

"Jesus, don't look at me like that," Trevor said with a chuckle. "I think my soul has a burn-hole now."

"Sorry, I was just caught a little off guard," L said, relaxing his glare only slightly. "You want to do a painting of me? You did a sketch of me last night."

He just remembered that sketch, something he would eventually have to make a decision on how he would handle.

"Yeah, I want to practice figure drawing a bit more," Trevor said, tone a bit clumsier though smoothing out quickly, "and what better subject than the adorable man in my arms now."

L pulled himself away from Trevor, legs returning to their familiar crouch and his arms folded across his knees.

"Oh…I…uh…I'm sorry I mentioned it," Trevor said. "I had a feeling you were shy about stuff like this, or maybe just don't want any record you were here, you know in case you're not out to anyone yet."

L held up a hand and shook his head.

Willingly having his image captured was almost always out of the question. Being caught on security cameras in mundane situations or being in a crowd photo was one matter, though purposefully allowing a record of his presence anywhere was almost always a bad idea. One image could lead to another and another and quickly set a chain of his whereabouts.

The only exception he had ever made to this was of a deeply personal nature; a reunion with two long-lost family members. Even in that scenario, he made both of them swear the photo would only stay in their possession and not shown to anyone outside their own households let alone distributed or posted online. He had also worn a different set of clothes, styled his hair differently, and had grown a goatee in anticipation of that moment so he was not as recognizable.

Then again one image would not identify him as L or even identify him as having anything to do with L if his guise was well thought out.

A drawn or painted image, however, was a different matter than a photograph. Such an image was entirely created by the artist's interpretation. Trevor had the skill to capture his features exactly, though L did have a modicum of plausible deniability in the case of a likeness created by another person.

The subject of a painting also did not have to be in the exact same location as the artist; it could have been argued that Trevor simply saw him once on the T and was inspired to create an image of him. This could have been based on the earlier sketch, one of many random individuals on the Red Line on a Saturday evening.

There was the matter of Trevor's friend Jade actually seeing him through the window, thus putting the two in the same location. Jade's view, however, was street level through a cloudy and likely reflective third-story window.

L knew there were a few holes to his internal arguments he would have to sort out, though he overall realized he was trying to talk himself into this instead of dismissing the idea outright.

"Oh, um, it was the reference to 'figure drawing' wasn't it," Trevor said. "I…I'm sorry, I know that probably scared you. I just wanted to paint you in general, you can be fully clothed for that…if you're up for it of course."

If his adventurous side was quietly coaxing him into this, it was now speaking a bit louder with this one implication of a nude drawing.

L was well aware of his introversion, though that had more to do with his social comfort than his physical comfort. While he rarely even took his shirt off or wore shorts in public, that was more out of generic comfort and he wasn't particularly embarrassed or modest about his body.

A bit of nude modeling actually sounded intriguing; a little dangerous, a little thrilling perhaps. If the painting showed him in the nude, his face would probably be the last thing the viewer noticed. There was the matter of the long surgical scar across his side being an identifying mark, though once again he rarely took his shirt off in public.

But who would even see it? Trevor's friends? If the image was full male nudity, the painting wouldn't be posted in another coffee shop. Most generic websites dedicated to art postings required a model release form for nudes, which he wasn't even going to mention. Simple figure drawings, even with nudity, weren't the biggest draw on any social networking site and even if Trevor had a site of his own how many hits would that get?

There were a million other Trevor's in the world; avid artists with some displays who would likely never see any major distribution or display. Even in the astronomically rare case that Trevor did achieve any fame as an artist a simple figure painting would probably get buried under the pile of his more unique works and even if it were displayed would likely get little overall notice.

In the end, any worst-case scenarios would be easily smoothed over if they actually occurred. He had little to lose by agreeing to this, but what could he gain? The experience of doing it, perhaps; maybe another unique activity to get out of his own head and call this weekend a true success.

L took his arms off his knees and gave a hard sigh. There were a million reasons why he shouldn't do this; the reasons to do this were all his own and that was sufficient enough for the moment.

He rose from his seat, walking across the room to the drafting table and turning around.

Trevor had turned his gaze away, but now looked at him with a curious expression.

L leaned against the table, his elbows resting his weight against the edge and he stood still for a moment with a light nod.

Trevor's expression lightened up as he nodded to make sure he was understanding correctly. He then scrambled to his feet, practically skipping to the easel and taking the in-progress painting of the Prudential Tower off and leaning it on the side of one easel leg.

"I do have a few conditions before we proceed," L said.

"Sure," Trevor said, walking to a side shelf and grabbing a large, blank canvas that had been resting against it. "Whatever you want."

"You are to do this with paints, pencils, or any other traditional medium only," L said. "There will be no cameras involved at all; digital, Polaroid, cell phone, it doesn't matter."

"Hell no," Trevor said, walking back to the easel. "Live subjects all the way, that's how I do things. Photos are for cheaters."

"Also you will only portray my image as you see it and exactly how I am posed," L said. "What you do with scenery or background is your business, but you will not alter anything on or having to do with my person."

"No problemo," Trevor said, putting the canvas on the easel and pulling a small, folding table with various brushes a well-used palette.

"I need your word," L said.

"I solemnly swear to everything you just said," Trevor said, holding up his right hand for a moment.

"I will hold you to that," L said.

Trevor grabbed a rectangular pencil off the table and positioned it on the canvas.

L's hands casually moved to the waist of his jeans, undoing the button and opening the zipper.

A small pencil streak went down the canvas as Trevor lost his grip on the pencil for a moment before catching it, eyes locked on L.

L pulled his jeans down, one leg coming out of them and the other kicking them across the room.

He looked up at Trevor, seeing a smile form over his face as his hand remained still on the canvas in anticipation.

L's mouth curled up in a smirk as his hands came to the band of his boxers, hesitating for a moment before pulling them down in one motion; Trevor's smile widening.

This whole experience was becoming more intriguing by the second.


	6. Part 6

**Calculated Risks**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities

**Part 6**

**June 1, 2003**

**Boston**

Trevor's painting method was almost a form of performance art in itself. Measuring scale, paining a few strokes, and changing colors were all done with their own great passion.

Spatters of paint would fly from the sides of the canvas, many landing on his black t-shirt while his arms would work in fluid, sometimes hurried motions. He was truly getting into his art, feeling it, experiencing all of it as if he was feeling its soul and driving from its energy.

As Trevor was a passionate artist, L was his perfect model. He stood practically still in the same pose, subtly stretching a muscle here and there but his own motions were so subtle they would barely be seen by anyone watching let alone Trevor, who was wrapped up in the moment.

The basic outline of "Ben's" pale form was on the canvas with white and cream-colored paint. A pure black, white, and gray-toned piece was the original plan that was changed the second the fleshed out sketch was completed. All it took was one glance up from the canvas, seeing the pinkish tones in his model's skin, fully appreciating the way the light bounced off him.

That was an hour ago and now gobs of gray, black, and cream were lined in a row on his acrylic-caked palette, a thin brush subtly blending in the shades, rounding out his form and making it look like he was materializing…no, coming to life on the canvas.

All the while his model's expression was patient, not looking at all strained or uncomfortable posing for a long time or even with his state of undress. It was like he was fully comfortable in his own skin or maybe the flesh was indeed just a shell for the soul underneath.

Trevor loved it when he waxed spiritual while paining; it proved to himself his passion was still there. His passion was there all along; untouched, only covered by all the nonsense that had gone on in the past few weeks. Maybe this was what having a muse felt like, or perhaps this was simply the result of having a new body to observe.

He had so many figure sketches of Jade, who would take her clothes off on any random afternoon to give her roommate something to do. To Jade, her own naked form represented a kind of freedom, or at least that was what she said on many an occasion. Being her "gay best friend" gave Trevor a bit of an exclusive; good for his art maybe, not as good for everything else.

Interestingly enough there were few male figures among his sketches; maybe any of the men he had seen naked were not special enough. Though what made Ben any different?

Trevor's brush dotted between the puddles white and pink on the palette while he looked back and forth from the canvas to his model's midsection. The faint pink scar running across his side commanded his attention for a second, then a second too long.

L knew exactly where he was looking, but tried to dissipate any discomfort with that the moment it materialized. That scar was going to be a focal point, for some reason he knew that was going to happen whether it was a rational realization or not.

Trevor's brush went back on the canvas, making small motions indicating detail work while looking directly at the scar again. L was a little annoyed at this point, but was saving any words for if the attention became a little too careful.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Trevor said.

The question was going to be obvious.

"That's fine," L said, tone still even.

"How did you get that scar?" Trevor finally asked.

"I was in a waterskiing accident about a year ago," L said, the story coming immediately into his mind the more he spoke. "I accompanied some friends to Cuba, not exactly the dream vacation but we were having as much fun as we could. I was being towed behind one of those rental boats that take runs specifically to let the tourists ski, everything was going fine until the operator made a hard turn past the shore, my line broke, and I did a flying belly-flop into the side of a dock."

"Jesus Christ," Trevor said with a wince. "That had to hurt."

"That's putting it lightly, I was injured rather seriously. Fortunately my life-vest blocked the most serious damage. All I got were some gashes on my liver and kidney. The Cuban doctors patched me up enough, but my family made some calls for me to get into a hospital in Miami for better care. There were some scary moments, but whatever doesn't kill you and all that."

If only it had happened that way. L preferred the story he made up to the actual truth, though if that would satisfy Trevor's curiosity.

"Damn, that makes you a true survivor I guess," Trevor said.

He put his brush on the palette and pulled his collar slightly to expose a short, faint scar on his shoulder.

"If it's any consolation, this is my worst one," he said. "My brother and I were dueling with branches when I was eight. I was tapped a little too hard, though the biggest medical drama was the three stitches I needed and my mom yelling at us all the way to the emergency room. She made my brother watch me get stitched up, though I think it was more a sick little treat for him than a punishment. You know how boys are."

"Naturally," L replied, slightly relieved the attention was off that sensitive subject for a moment.

Trevor's brush caught the edge of a gob of gray and put it on the canvas, adding some of the darker contrasting tones. L leaned back slightly into his usual position, taking a cursory look back at the alarm clock. Trevor looked up to see where his model was glancing and got curious himself, looking over his shoulder at the clock by his bed.

"2:27, damn time flies when you're having fun I guess," Trevor said, his attention returning to the canvas. "If you want to take a break at any time, just let me know. I have been known to just day in the moment for six hours or so until my arm starts cramping."

"No, I am perfectly comfortable," L said.

He was perfectly comfortable standing for hours naked in front of what was essentially a stranger. The thought was absurd, but that was the whole point.

A casual smile crept over his face that was meant to be in reaction to the question, though the thought of where he was and what he was doing was more than a little amusing.

"Have you ever done this before, you are a complete natural at it," Trevor said. "Even a lot of professional models will twitch, shiver, stretch a little. It's a natural reaction but a bit of a distraction, but you are like the Zen master there."

Sitting perfectly still for hours on end was his usual routine, the lack of clothes and the capturing of his image were the only things that made this situation unique to him.

"I am used to stillness," L said, "I have worked on ways to master it a bit better; the mind is free for so many things when it knows the body is taking care of itself. The mind works best without such distractions."

"You do take martial arts, don't you," Trevor said.

"Do I fulfill your fantasy of being with a ninja," L said evenly, though light sarcasm was rather evident.

Trevor ducked a little behind the canvas, an embarrassed smile clear on his face.

"Okay fine, I will confess I have a little…ummm…personal affinity for Japanese men," he said.

"You don't say," L said, the mental note already thoroughly written down in his head.

"I blame Kabuki Theater for that actually," Trevor said, "the actors are so beautiful, so graceful under their costumes and make-up. It makes you wonder who the actual person is behind all that display. Anyway, my high school art class went to this Kabuki production in Portland, I think I left with quite a few crushes."

Trevor was a clear connoisseur of the arts with an awareness of different styles and mediums, so his explanation held some water. L didn't entirely buy it, though if Trevor had some more risqué influences on his bookshelf or in that laptop on the kitchen counter was little of his business.

A few dabs of pink and gray rounded out the shading on his subject's sides. Most of Ben's form was done save for some white streaks and dots to add texture to his thick black hair and a slight shine in his eyes.

"You are staring at me from my canvas now," Trevor said. "Want to take a look?"

L pushed himself forward off the table with his elbows and walked forward, finding a position behind Trevor, though averting his gaze from the canvas until it was fully in view.

He was indeed staring back at himself, though more like looking at a representation in paint than a mirror. L never gave much thought to his own appearance, but Trevor's representation was flattering though acceptably accurate from an artistic standpoint.

Trevor captured a thin yet toned physique, accentuating the slight cut of the muscle around his arms and his torso that L typically saw as more subdued. Actually he didn't think about them at all.

The dark circles under his eyes blended in with the rest of the shadows on his face, giving him an appearance more fashionably dark than completely worn. Combined with his perpetually unruly hair, he did look like "a little goth boy" as Jade had so affectionately put it.

L examined every feature of his painted form with quiet contemplation. He had been completely nude, but only a rough sketch and basic coloring was done of his genital area while the rest of the image was completely detailed.

"I usually do not like to fully depict the intimate areas of my subjects," Trevor said, noticing immediately where his gaze had gone. " I was thinking since you were across from the window, I would have this long shadow coming down like this," his hand did a sweeping motion over the lower half of the figure in the painting, "make it enough to blend out the details. I've been playing with lighting effects lately, so I think this would be a great place for that."

L pondered the idea for a moment and nodded in approval, it was a unique idea as well as an interesting insight into Trevor's artistic thinking.

His eyes trailed up the painting to the one area he was more self-conscious about. The scar was indeed there; accurately shaded though completely subtle. A viewer would have seen it easily, though it was not glaring; maybe that was how it really looked to any outside observer. Maybe L was the only one who thought it a focal point for countless reasons that any audience member would not have known.

"You are quite skilled," L said, "I have to say I'm impressed."

Trevor's hand snaked around his waist as he pulled him closer to tenderly kiss his cheek.

"That makes me happy," Trevor said. "I don't know yet what I want to do with the background details and I do want to add some more texture to the hair, so I'm thinking of taking a nice pause from this if you don't mind."

"That's agreeable," L said. The details of the background were little of his concern. Even if Trevor never touched this painting again that was his decision he was free to make.

Trevor looked carefully at the figure, taking his arm back and going directly up to the canvas. His hand came sideways, gently positioned across L's shoulders in the image.

"You know, I would like to try another piece with you," he said, facing his model. "A sketch, actually. I just want to do your profile" he placed his hand on the side of L's face and gently turned his head to the side "maybe play with some lighting."

"Can I at least have my pants on for this one, your apartment is somewhat chilly," L said.

Trevor dramatically looked to the ceiling, twisting his face in mock contemplation.

"Hmm, well I am going to have to think about that," Trevor said in a snooty voice, "you without pants might inspire me a little more."

"I can guess what that would inspire, but the intended result would classify as pornography," L said.

Trevor loosely draped his arms over L's shoulders.

"I prefer the term eroticism myself," Trevor said, leaning forward and kissing him, "it has meaning when you put it that way."

"Meaning is overrated," L said, pulling Trevor in closer and planting a series of light kisses on his lips.

"Pornography then," Trevor said, leaning in for another kiss.

His mouth opened slightly and both their tongues gently pressed as their kiss deepened. Trevor's hands caressed L's bare back, feeling warm over his chilly skin. L took a deep breath, allowing himself to feel totally relaxed in Trevor's embrace.

For at least a moment, he managed to calm his thoughts and simply appreciate the warm embrace and the soft lips of his companion. He was standing completely exposed, his naked form surrounded by the warm arms of another; it was a moment that was getting quite used to in just a short amount of time. He could grow hungry for this feeling if he was not careful.

A shrill ring through the apartment caused Trevor to jump slightly, pulling away from the kiss and glaring at the ringing phone on the table.

"The fucking battery is getting taken out of that thing," Trevor said, leaning in for a quick kiss before pulling away and walking to the table.

Trevor groaned as he picked up the phone, one glance at the caller I.D. making him wince. L thought it slightly curious he wasn't letting the machine pick it up; maybe he had to take this call.

Trevor practically shoved the talk button down, putting the phone to his ear.

"Good afternoon," he said in a tone of forced cheer.

L walked back to the drafting table, reaching down and plucking his boxer shorts from the floor while subtly listening to the conversation. Trevor must have had his phone turned rather high because he heard another female voice on the other end, though this one sounding a bit older.

"Happy Memorial Day," the voice said. "Did you get my message from last night?"

"Yes I got your message," Trevor said, leaning against the table with an unimpressed look.

"Oh sweetie, I have been so worried about you all week," the voice said. "How did the interview go on Thursday?"

"I had a really good feeling about it, all my notes were in order, the lady asked me all the right questions, I think I'm a shoe in," Trevor said.

Trevor really was a clumsy liar. His eyes wandered around the apartment and the scowl on his face was evident. Either there was no interview on Thursday or it did not go well.

L made eye contact with Trevor, whose gaze locked on him; eyes training down his naked form. L leaned slightly against the drafting table, his pelvis casually moving forward as he shot him a seductive glance.

Trevor smiled wide, seemingly not paying any attention to the caller, who went on about how pleased she was to hear about the interview and hounding him that his resume was updated. He gave a few grunting yeses in response while walking to his companion.

Trevor's body language revealed every piece of information L was digging up with his seductive demeanor. Trevor was visibly tense and snapped immediately toward a pleasing distraction; he had all the reactions of an injured dog hobbling toward a juicy piece of steak.

"I think she said I should get a call back for better or worse by the end of next week," Trevor said, his free hand running through L's hair.

"Can you wait another week without knowing anything," the voice said, now clearly heard with the phone now a few centimeters from L's ear.

"I'm not too concerned right now," Trevor replied, his eyes fixed on L and mouth in a smile.

"Has Jade at least paid you some rent money," the voice said. "I hope you're not forgetting that apartment was in her name too."

"Believe me, mom, I've hardly forgotten that fact," Trevor said with a profound eyeroll. He leaned into L's face, caressing his cheek with his nose. "I actually just spoke with Jade this morning and she'll have at least a part of her share by the end of the month."

His lies got a little more convincing the more he relaxed. The nature of the conversation was only obvious now; he was trying to get his nagging mother to shut the hell up in the most passive way he could.

A hard sigh from the other end showed she was far from convinced.

"I don't know about this Trevor," Trevor's mother said. "You're taking the word of someone who has clearly shown how unreliable she is."

"And that's why I'm not taking her word for it," Trevor said, his tone becoming more strained. "I am pissed off enough about that whole mess; I have zero faith in her."

"Well what are you going to do now," his mother said. "You're going to stay in that apartment on your entire savings to do what. Stare at the walls? Go drinking with your friends all the time?"

Trevor gave a quiet sigh, his hand dropping from L's hair as he took a couple steps back.

"Mom we've talked about this over and over," Trevor said. "I wouldn't have come down here if I didn't have a million plans and a million contingency plans on top of that. This is just a little setback, I've got interviews lined up and I should be getting some offers. Worst comes to worst I can transfer my credits and my student loans to BC or something. I've got plenty of Uncle Steve's money left to pay the rent until Jade gets her act together or I get a job."

L slid his boxers back on. He found the conversation mildly intriguing; a rather complicated story was unfolding in front of him and it was too much fun mentally sorting out all the bits of information.

It would have been tempting to say it was like watching a fishbowl; listening in on a story that had nothing to do with any major investigation and could have been considered pure melodrama. Maybe this was another thing he needed; putting together clues for no other purpose than his own shallow understanding.

"I'll be honest with you Trevor, I didn't like when you went to Boston in the first place and now I'm afraid all my reasons for being apprehensive is everything I'm hearing right now," Trevor's mother said.

Trevor rubbed the back of his neck and closed his eyes; what he heard cut him deeply.

"It put my mind at ease that you were paying rent and working, but now you're unemployed, you learned the hard way about Jade, and now you're trying to squeeze out some more party time with Uncle Steve's money when I'm sure Uncle Steve would have rather you put it toward your education."

Trevor's nails dug into the wood surface of the table, he bit his lower lip hard, and he stared daggers into the phone.

L picked up his jeans from the floor, one slender leg sliding through at a time before he pulled them up, listening to a story that essentially told itself.

On some level he felt for Trevor; hearing from a parental figure that one was an irresponsible failure was not a pleasant situation. Neither was being grabbed by one's shoulders by their parental figure who insisted that the current situation was poisonous and some time off would be best.

Maybe Watari's words cut as deep for him as the words Trevor's mother just passed him.

"Look, mom, it's not like this isn't something I haven't had going through my head a million times," Trevor said, trying to stay calm though his voice was cracking and growing louder with every word. "Things are much more under control here than you think, believe me. I'm not going partying every night with my friends, I'm not throwing Uncle Steve's money away, I'm trying to establish myself here and no it's not going to be easy. I knew the moment I got here it wasn't going to be easy; everything you're telling me now is something I have taken into account. I'm 22-years-old, I can figure all this stuff out."

An uncomfortable silence lingered in the apartment save for the gentle rustle of L's jeans as he bent down and scooped his sweatshirt from the floor.

"I…I'm just concerned, Trevor," his mother said with a sigh. "I'm your mom, I'm entitled to be. I also need to remind myself you are an adult now and maybe I don't give you as much credit as I should. Honey, how about you come up for the rest of the weekend. Your step-dad and I have Monday off and I got Tuesday off too. We can get you a train ticket online and we'll pick you up in Portland. Or you could get off at the stop by UNH and we could spend the day in Portsmouth."

Trevor's hand was shaking against the table, his eyes growing red.

He was in a position where he was in over his head and knew it. At least the worst of his problems were dealing with his over insistent mother and not trying to solve the bloody problems of the world.

Trevor would never know what it was like to have a student hang himself, to have another dress like him to kill three people. Trevor would never have to see a dead body or spend months tracking down hundreds of people before they killed again. Trevor likely would never see the bloody corpse of his parent lying on the front lawn unlike another in the room.

Trevor was only faced with the end of his big city dream amid a lost job and a ditzy, unreliable roommate. He was a prince in a crumbling castle seeking the company of fair lords to keep his mind off reality.

L pulled his sweatshirt over his body with a scowl. He had no sympathy for Trevor; Trevor was a spoiled little boy in his estimation who had no idea what true hardship was.

He had no sympathy for him at all…just a healthy amount of envy he wasn't going to admit to himself he had. Or maybe he just did.

"No, mom, it's okay," Trevor said. "Jade said she wants to talk tomorrow and I at least want to hear her out before making any decisions."

"Well, just call me and let me know if you change your mind," his mother said. "I only worry about you because I love you and that's how it is."

"I love you too, mom," Trevor said, a small smile breaking through. "I've got some cleaning to do, so I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Have a great night, sweetie, love ya," she said.

Trevor hit the talk button and walked over to the couch, his complexion a bit red. His eyes trailed over to L as he put the phone back in the charger on the side table.

"I am really, really sorry you had to hear that," Trevor said.

L walked to Trevor, caressing the side of his face and planting a quick kiss on his lips.

"Having a little trouble in paradise, are we," L stated more than asked.

"I'd say you don't want to know, but I think you've pretty much heard everything," Trevor said, some of it through his teeth.

"That's an accurate assessment," L said. He didn't want to care, but somehow he was drawn in at a level where he was more curious.

Trevor put his hands on his shoulder and drew him in for another kiss, though his partner did not return the gesture with as much gusto. Trevor drew back, giving him a look communicating unsurprised hurt.

"Look, burying this nonsense is only going to make things more uncomfortable for both of us," L said. "If I am your weekend distraction, I am hardly offended. However, I will admit I am growing a little tired of having a front row seat to whatever drama is going on in your life and I have the feeling you are growing a little tired of it as well."

Trevor gazed into his eyes, a tired smirk creeping across his face. He pulled away from L and walked back to the couch, reaching toward the phone jack on the wall and practically ripping the cord out of the wall.

"The bullshit ends here," Trevor said.

He walked to the door and picked his black denim jacket off the floor, sliding his arms through the sleeves.

"Are you my distraction, Ben?" Trevor said, a hint of light sarcasm evident in his voice. "You know what, yes maybe you are. All this shit hits the fan in the same 24-hour period that I have this frigging gorgeous, mysterious, miraculous-in-bed guy who I just happen to stumble across and I carry over my threshold. Maybe you're my guardian angel, or maybe you're like one of those worry dolls that I unload all my shit onto and just toss out in the wind at the end of the weekend."

Trevor was in a raw state; it was evident in his tone and his shaking, yet confident demeanor. His mother and Jade did an excellent job of tearing him down, where he went from here might be fun to watch. Then again it wasn't as if L was in a perfectly strong state himself.

Trevor reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights as his other hand reached down and grabbed his sketchpad from the table.

"Do you want to go for a walk or something, because I need to get the fuck out of here for a while," Trevor said, shaking the pack and pulling a cigarette out with his teeth.

"I could use some air," L replied. "I suggest we head in the direction of the Museum of Fine Arts. Don't worry about admission; consider it a morale gift."

"I've got a membership there too," Trevor said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth, "we'll be mutually beneficial."

The cigarette was back between his lips and he fumbled for his lighter while opening the door. L slid his sneakers back on and lingered behind for a moment while Trevor walked out.

One quiet moment to himself felt good, though he hurried after Trevor a breath later. Maybe they would prove mutually beneficial in more than one way.


	7. Part 7

**Calculated Risks**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities

_For saving me from all they've taken  
Letting my armor fall again  
Giving me the strength to face them  
Feeling it taking over now  
I'm about to take it all away  
_Disturbed- "The Night"

**Part 7**

**June 1, 2003**

**Boston**

The Indian art room looked empty when L and Trevor entered the side door from the hallway. A few steps further both of them pulled back, Trevor covering his mouth to stifle a giggle at the sight revealed in one corner.

Two women around college age, one with short, spiked hair dyed red in a black leather jacket and another with dreadlocks and a patchwork dress, made out in the corner by the back wall oblivious to anyone around them. They probably figured they were alone, but it didn't matter to them either way; they had all the privacy they needed.

"Do you want to do what they're doing," Trevor whispered to L.

L showed him a glare framed with a polite smile. Trevor chuckled a little more, grabbing his companion's shoulder with one hand and leading him away from the room.

"Let's leave them be," Trevor said, "I was more interested in the Contemporary wing anyway."

"Reserving your spot," L said, completely deadpan.

"Was that a compliment," Trevor said. "Or were you toasting my ego?"

"Yes."

Trevor chuckled, running a playful hand through L's hair before grabbing his hand. They were alone in this part of the hallway, it almost felt this space was there's. A few African women in dashikis passed them; a few eyes turned to the handholding and there were a few disapproving glances, but everyone continued their conversations and turned back to their respective business.

Trevor glanced at L with a smile, seeing the same stony look and same dark eyes scanning the hallway.

Ben was a hard one to read and it didn't help that neither of them really talked since leaving the apartment. Trevor at first thought he should explain the situation on the short walk to the MFA but his tongue froze the moment he got outside; mind still needing time to cool off after the pleasant conversation with his mother.

The cool, rainy air and the silence did the trick as did walking through the doors of a building filled with his true passion. Since they arrived conversation consisted of Trevor sharing his knowledge of paintings and artifacts. Ben listened politely and occasionally joined in the discussion though he was otherwise quiet.

It was only now where that quiet bothered Trevor. He looked again at his companion, seeing no obvious looks of annoyance though he was somber. Then again he was somber from the moment they met. Damn these hard to read people.

"What time does the museum close again," L said, mostly to break the silence, or rather his own silence.

"5 o'clock," Trevor said, looking up in the hallway and seeing a large clock over one door reading 4:15. "We've seen the good parts anyway. The Contemporary exhibit is near the exit and the gift shop. Anything you wanted to do after this?"

L looked up at the clock and shrugged. He really hadn't thought that far ahead, which wasn't a bad thing under the circumstances.

He was about to give a noncommittal answer when a low ring and vibration came from his jeans pocket. He turned his head to hide his suddenly sour expression; yesterday at this time he would have rejoiced at his phone going off, right now the timing was abysmal and ignoring it was not an option.

"Your turn," Trevor said with a stiff chuckle.

"Excuse me," L said, walking out of the hallway and into the main foyer.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and opened it; getting some entertainment from Trevor's double-take at the way he held it by the top end. One of Watari's fakely labeled lines was listed on the screen, causing him to walk a few more feet away.

"Hello," L said, voice casual but strained.

"All is well," Watari said on the other end, making L relax a little. "Just checking up on you. How is the retreat going?"

"Very relaxing indeed," L said, taking a casual glance back at Trevor. Trevor looked at one of the announcement boards on the wall though was clearly trying to listen in. L's phone had special blockers from outside ears so Trevor would be getting a one-sided conversation. "I am at the Museum of Fine Arts actually and have to catch up with my tour group so this will have to be kept short."

"Understandable, you can tell me all about it when you return," Watari said, his tone jovial. "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning," L replied without hesitation.

He looked at Trevor again, seeing his calm smile slowly straighten and curve into a small frown; a sight that slightly stung.

"All right," Watari said. "Give me a ring before your plane leaves."

"Very good," L said, slipping into his role as a vacationing accountant for his next question though Watari would clearly understand. "So how many tax portfolios am I going to find on my desk when I return."

"Nothing needing your concern at the moment," Watari said. "I will brief you when you return. Now you don't want to lag behind your tour group."

"Understood," L said with a nod, though quietly frustrated at not knowing how many potential cases awaited him. "I will see you on Tuesday."

He hit the red button on the phone and put it back in his pocket while walking back to Trevor. Trevor gave him a calm smile in greeting, though L silently hoped he hadn't made things even more awkward.

What difference would it have made anyway; Trevor knew he wasn't going to stick around for long. Trevor was fortunate he hadn't walked out on him to begin with.

"My apologies," L said. "My boss just had to call me and tell me about the pile of paperwork awaiting me. If only Monday was a holiday for us too."

Trevor nodded, looking to relax a little.

"Pas de probleme," he said, "now I heard a rumor there were some Warhol's on display so I say we investigate."

L nodded catching up to Trevor as he walked toward the Contemporary wing.

"You know, I just had a wacky thought," Trevor said.

"What would that be," L said, knowing what was coming.

"Why don't we go to the beach after this," Trevor said, stopping and facing him. "I know a nice place off the Blue Line near the airport and we can just grab the train here or walk to Government Center and grab the line there."

"The beach," L said. "It is a little cold for swimming."

"Exactly, making it the perfect time for sketching before it gets dark," Trevor said. "No one save for a few dog walkers will be there." Trevor leaned further against L's ear. "And once it gets dark no one will be there at all."

The insinuation was rather obvious, though L wasn't adverse to some sea air and quiet time at the very least. It would mean being in a more remote area alone with Trevor, though he trusted him a little more now than when they first met. If he wanted to show some latent true colors out there he was welcome to and L still had a folded knife in one pocket in case his façade changed.

"That idea is agreeable," L said.

Trevor smiled, walking a few steps forward.

"Oh, and Ben," Trevor said, suddenly stopping.

L waited for what he was would say next, but he wasn't prepared for the arm around his shoulder and the wet peck on his lips. The kiss held for a second before Trevor pulled back.

"We just kissed in the art gallery," Trevor said with a mischievous smile.

----------

Darkness usually fell at 8 this time of year, though it was now 7 and daylight dimmed behind the thick clouds over Constitution Beach.

Trevor leaned into his pad a little more, making smaller strokes though not expressing any discomfort. Such seemed to be the theme of the whole weekend.

The last jogger filed up the street half an hour ago. L and Trevor had been completely alone since then save for the usual passing cars on the street a few hundred meters back though the two of them were completely invisible to passers by.

Growing darkness enveloped the beach, the tiny specks of a few waking streetlights indicating the location of the street while the rest was sand and rocks. The tide went out a few minutes ago, making the rough surf a little farther away and leaving them with the rest of the beach.

Trevor put a hand through his hair, shaking off a layer of misty drizzle that had accumulated with the low clouds and spray. He positioned the cover of the pad over the paper in such a way to shield it from the mist, though a few more specks of water were sneaking on the edges. L merely shook his head slightly, feeling the water drip onto the shoulders of his sweatshirt.

The rush of waves, passing cars, and the occasional roar of a plane coming into Logan Airport were the only sound between them. Neither had spoken since settling in this spot. Even the conversation on the subway was sparse and mostly related to the paintings and artifacts they saw at the museum, though all dwindled to small talk by Orient Heights Station.

L leaned back against the sloping dune that had been his personal resting space for the past hour, inhaling the air soaked with seaweed and rain. He welcomed the quiet, one of the first opportunities he had all weekend to truly enjoy silence.

The silence, however, was as much a lingering specter waiting menacingly in the guise of a welcome guest. L could sense an impending explosion or a permanent freeze given the situation, though the latter option scared him a little more than the first. Now he was about to light a match when the air smelled of gas.

"Now I want to ask you something," L said, his voice a knife through the thick silence.

Trevor put a few more strokes on his pad before looking up with a bemused smile.

"Go right ahead," Trevor said.

"I believe I already know the answer to this question, but I just wanted a confirmation," L said. "I noticed your finished pieces are leaning against the wall in stacks, though there is one frame that is mounted on the wall."

"A photo of an elderly gentleman leaning against a tree," Trevor said with a nod, feeling his insides tighten a little more.

"Who is the man in the photo," L asked. "Like I said, I have a feeling I know the answer."

"And what would that be," Trevor said, sounding a little more strained than he wanted to.

"Your uncle and assumably your patron for your time in Boston," L said. "I believe his name was Steve."

That was a rather matter-of-fact way of putting it. Trevor was both amused and slightly put off by the choice of words; the same stiff delivery he had been giving all day, but it was only now when he really noticed.

"We have a winner," Trevor said. "That was actually the first thing I put up on my wall when I moved in."

Trevor turned his attention back to the sketch, adding a few more strokes to Ben's hair; fully framing the half-hearted profile he had drawn.

The silence lingered for a moment, though Trevor expected more questions about Steve. Maybe Ben was choosing his words or avoiding a sensitive subject out of shyness or respect. Then again maybe he didn't care; it was a possibility that had built up too much in Trevor's mind in the last few hours like a hundred other things.

"If you don't mind my asking, is your uncle still with us," L said at last.

"No he is not," Trevor said, looking around to see his light growing steadily dimmer. "He passed away a little over a year ago, a few strokes caught up with him."

He gripped the pencil a little harder, realizing that was the last thought he wanted through his mind right now.

Ben's nod and the return of the silence grated on him.

"My condolences," L said.

"Thanks," Trevor replied.

L's eyes fixed on Trevor, watching as the enthusiasm drained from his hand and his face soured. He clearly didn't want to talk about this, though he appeared more annoyed at the fact it was mentioned; or maybe how it was mentioned.

"I can tell you cared about him deeply," L said, softening his tone slightly and noticed the way Trevor visibly relaxed.

"He was the black sheep of the family," Trevor said. "Everyone avoided talking about him. Our polite little Lutheran family paid him lip service, didn't want to fully acknowledge the fact he was living blissfully with another man in a stable, committed relationship. As you can imagine, he was my hero."

"Such a mutual understanding could only form deep connections," L said with a small smile.

"I just love how you put things," Trevor said, lowering the pad and giving him an annoyed look.

L looked downward and nodded.

"I'm sorry, I should probably leave the subject alone," L said.

Trevor closed the pad and looked down at the sand.

"No, it…it's fine," Trevor said. "It does run rather deep for me. I'll be honest with you he was the only member of my family I really felt any connection with. Both of us were misfits surrounded by everyone who was pissed that we would never be like them, and yes we really bonded. We just related to each other so well; like best friends almost."

He tried to keep his voice from shaking at the thought.

It was like everything from the past few months was blowing up in his face within the course of 24 hours. The optimistic part of him tried to remind himself that such was the reason why he had met Ben, a pretty distraction. That pretty distraction, however, was starting to grate on him.

Maybe all he truly needed was to be alone now; take some time to sort out his thoughts and not worry about trying to put up a brave face in front of this stone hard individual who had already called him out on the facade already. He was leaving tomorrow anyway, a fact he should have kept in mind though that didn't make the thought hurt any less.

L looked out at the ocean, looking back to see Trevor's blank gaze fixed on him; the tables were turned and his reactions were now being scrutinized.

An airplane flew overhead, the engines visible as it veered toward the airport. The screeching roar as it replaced the stifling silence that would have definitely returned. The plane passed and the silence returned, though was broken by Trevor clearing his throat.

"When he died, he left me a sizable amount of money," Trevor continued. Maybe getting more of it out there would help him even if the individual he was confiding in had the emotional capacity of a wall. "There was even a specific instruction in his will for me to use that to pursue my happiness. My mother thinks that means the money should be used for me to sit in school for five years and graduate with a shiny degree and a hope and a prayer of getting a decent job. I had other ideas."

"If you don't mind my saying, I sensed some emotional blackmail with what she said as well," L said.

Trevor nodded enthusiastically with some surprise; suddenly feeling a little silly for judging him so fast in sour mood. Then again maybe he could have some fun testing him out; he needed to stop taking people for face value.

"That woman lives off emotional blackmail," Trevor replied.

Though she lives, said a tiny voice in L's mind. He tried to snuff out the thought, though it lingered.

"My older brother Rich went to college, got his realtor's license, is now one of the top selling real estate agents in York County, and just had a huge engagement party to this skinny little sorority chick he was banging all throughout college," Trevor said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his pack of cigarettes. "My mother holds him up as a shining example of what her other son should be like."

The resentment in his voice was clear; a sentiment he had heard from many different people about may different parents and mentors.

Mello often feels he is inferior to Near and lashes out at him regularly, read one of Roger's last reports on the successors. L frankly didn't have any favorites. A and B were always competing until they destroyed themselves…destroyed themselves for him.

"Did you ever feel you had to live up to that standard," L asked.

"The standard can go fuck itself," Trevor said, opening the pack and pulling out a cigarette. "I've never had use for standards. Was I jealous of Rich? Hell no, I felt sorry for him. It was my mother who I was less than pleased with; appreciate me for who I fucking am."

L never knew how he would handle that kind of parental pressure; such a thing almost felt like a blissful luxury.

Trevor flipped the cigarette onto his mouth and lit it with a metal lighter.

L sighed hard, trying to clear his thoughts and while he examined Trevor's expression; though something else came to mind as well.

"Can I steal one of those off you," L said.

Trevor took a draw and looked down at the pack.

"You smoke?" he said.

"Occasionally," L said with dull honesty.

Trevor held the pack out and L carefully took one out, giving it a cursory check over before putting it in his mouth. Trevor flipped the lighter open, leaning forward.

L took a few light puffs, the slight burn in his chest reminding him of how little he did this; once or twice a year to be exact.

"I used to this regularly until I gradually pulled myself away," he said, blowing out a stream and delicately holding the cigarette between his first two fingers.

It was the best way to blend in with the local hooligans who gathered at the gravel pit kilometer away from Wammy's House; a group of 13-year-olds who would drink beer, smoke cigarettes and occasionally marijuana, and shoot bottles with bb guns after school or late at night.

L fit right in with them, from his beat up jeans and long, disheveled hair to his convincing working class accent peppered with obscenities. He could manipulate them to do anything he wanted; gather local knowledge, steal electronic equipment, serve as a cover when some of the local cops started asking too many questions about Wammy's House.

All he needed to do was play the part, though the lines crossed into a habit in this one respect. He quit after a year, though after a yelling at by Roger and a stiff reprimand from Watari. It became a lesson not to let the line between reality and undercover work blur, though it was more a lesson in self control.

It was also the beginning of the end of his time in Wammy's House. The smoking was hardly the biggest issue, though his manipulation of the local thugs and fellow orphans convinced Watari that perhaps it was too dangerous for him to be in such an environment; dangerous for whom was debatable.

"I quit cold turkey, you might say," L said. "However, I will allow myself one, maybe two a year; put the temptation in my face so I can work to resist it. It's a small test of will."

"That sounds like masochism to me," Trevor said, managing a chuckle before taking a draw while savoring the light break in the conversation. "Has it worked? Have you ever just slipped up and polished off the whole pack?"

"Never," L said taking a light draw. "The last time I did this was February of 2002."

It was following an Edmonton Oilers game with his sister and a few of her friends. He stole a cigarette from her when she wasn't looking and smacked him in the shoulder for it. Such an innocent time it was and six months later it would all fall apart…if it was even together in the first place.

He spoke to her over the phone a month after being stabbed, though only for a few minutes; he just didn't really want to speak to her even though he longed for someone to be by his bedside...

L looked back out at the surf, trying again to calm his thoughts.

"You suck," Trevor said.

L chuckled in reaction, Trevor's own chuckle lifting some of the haze.

"I, however, lack that kind of self control," Trevor continued. "I quit for a good year and a half despite having a roommate who sucked them up like crazy. Ironically it was when that roommate took off when I started again."

"Stress will do that," L said, taking a harder draw from his own marking his own point.

Trevor gazed at him, mouth turning up in a stiff smile. L returned the gaze, face completely stony.

"What time are you leaving tomorrow," Trevor asked.

"Late morning," L said, flicking an ash onto the wet sand. He was still not entirely comfortable with telling him the exact time of his departure.

Trevor nodded with a grimace. He was tempted to open the conversation a little more by asking him to stay one more day, though what would be the point. His word was final, just the tone of voice told him that.

L looked up at him, taking another draw and contemplating the buildings ahead of him for a moment.

"I can tell that bothers you," he said

"If it does it's more my problem," Trevor replied. "We've known each other less than a day; you've got other obligations in your little Canadian universe, I should have expected this"

Trevor took a draw, exhaling a long stream while looking out at the water. He looked back to see Ben's haunting eyes boring through him. Darkness made them less visible, though more eerie.

"Tell me at least that you're going to something away from this," Trevor said, letting some degree of desperation leak through.

"What do you mean," L said.

Trevor immediately regretted his words. What the hell did he mean by that? Now he just sounded desperate, pathetic. Some truths were forming in his mind and it was best to have them out.

"You asked me before if you were my weekend distraction, the truth is yes you are," Trevor replied. "However, I am tired of cheapness. The entire time I've been with you I have wanted every moment to be meaningful; some bullshit like I met my muse or something."

"Or your guardian angel or a worry doll you dump your shit onto if I remember correctly," L said, taking a draw though his gaze never left Trevor.

"You know what scares me the most about you leaving," Trevor said. "The moment you leave my sight the fantasy ends, I go back into reality of having to talk to my mother or talk to Jade with you as a memory of being just another random guy I fucked. I'll probably forget your name in a couple weeks, or I'll remember it if I see that painting; if I don't put it in a closet and forget about that too. I don't want that to happen, I want something more; but in the end this is all my issue."

L sighed, it was a legitimate concern on the part of someone needing a change in their life; Trevor wanted to grasp onto something golden and hope it remained somehow. That sounded disturbingly familiar.

How would he think of Trevor when he left? What was he even going back to, a pile of more cases to test his intellect? Was intellect all he had in his life, was that all he needed? Trevor had been his own weekend distraction; that he admitted to himself freely. What happened after this?

Trevor put the pad and pencil on the sand and stretched to a stand, giving an audible groan as he did so. He walked a few steps toward the surf, taking a final draw from his cigarette and tossing it on the ground; exhaling slowly and letting the cloud of smoke drift with the sea breeze.

"The thought of that scares the hell out of me too," L said, his voice soft but strengthening as he fought off his internal warnings to keep his thoughts quiet.

Trevor turned around to see Ben staring at the sand with a somber expression.

"The fling ends, the weekend is over, all that is left is reality," L said, taking his own last draw and snuffing his cigarette out in the sand. "I suppose the optimistic answer would be to learn to appreciate what you have. Savor every moment in you have in this city and fight like hell to stay here. Or go back to Maine, spend time with your mother and your brother, appreciate them for who they are. But then that would be the easy answer."

"Yeah that would be the easy answer," Trevor said with a sigh, "though maybe it isn't such a bad one. Maybe there are people I'm not giving the benefit of the doubt." Another thought crossed his mind as he saw Ben continue to stare at the surf. "What do you have to come home to?"

L gave an uneasy laugh.

"I have my work, I have family members…"

"Like what," Trevor interrupted.

It was a question he would typically make up a story for as an answer; though this time he wanted to tell more truths. He wanted loosen the iron-clad façade for a moment; let in some fresh air lest he suffocate in his shell.

Maybe it was best to take on at least a variation of the one alias that had at least some basis in reality though was still a fabrication; Liam Lawliet, his "true" identity. Even if it was real it was still fake in some way; maybe L was indeed his true identity after all.

"A brother, sister, two nieces, scores of other people I have learned from and who I hope I have taught," L said, the details generic enough.

"What about your parents," Trevor said.

"Both dead," L said, knowing he needed to end his part of the conversation soon. Normally he would never have gotten this far, though this was actually helping him.

Trevor's mouth hung open slightly and his chest tightened.

"How old were you," Trevor asked.

"Six," L said. That was one thing he did not want to think about this weekend either if ever, though this was apparently a weekend of healing.

Trevor cringed, suddenly feeling awful about his own bellyaching. He wanted to ask more questions, like who raised him and how his parents died but he couldn't bring himself to. Perhaps it was something he didn't even want to know or shouldn't know.

"My parents divorced when I was nine," Trevor said. "I talk to my dad at least once a month; he's a highway worker for the public works department in Scarborough. My mom remarried, he's an ok guy; not dad but still. You know what my mom's like, my dad has his moments too, but you know I could never imagine not having them."

L gave Trevor a patient look, seeing how his mind was working. Maybe something woke him up a little.

"But you still have a family," Trevor said, knowing he was probably digging himself in deeper but he had to find some comfort.

The question did catch L off guard, though made something click in his mind.

"That I do," he said. Words formed that should have stayed in his brain, but under the circumstances this had been life or death for him before. "I just…I just don't appreciate that fact. I have people in my life I know care about me deeply, but I just don't acknowledge that."

Two siblings, for all their flaws, who were still appreciative of having their brother back to them even if they rarely spoke; a mentor and partner who would do anything for him, including giving him strong words when he saw something he didn't like. A house full of children who called him their idol, maybe children who were more mentally stable than certain others.

Maybe some things did not need over analysis on a certain level; maybe it would be best for him if he just quietly appreciated the things around him more.

Trevor stood still, watching him pick the lighter off the pad and flick it open a few times; playing with it to get his thoughts in order. It lit up once, the yellow light illuminating the side of his face through the darkness before going out.

"I am going to tell you something that I have not even told members of my family," L said, knowing he had to have this out to someone though he quickly thought of how he would say it. "Remember when I told you about the accident I had in Cuba."

Trevor's heart sunk even further, knowing what he was going to say.

"That wasn't entirely an accident," L said, the story was different but the overall theme was the same. "The truth is I did not fasten my line very well."

"You knew what would happen," Trevor said.

"Actually I didn't, but I had the general idea," L said, flipping the lighter open and closed again. "I just wanted to see how it would end, spun the wheel if you will. I didn't know what I wanted to happen until it did, and then I hoped it could be undone."

Trevor sighed hard, looking out at the beach for a second before looking back at Ben.

L looked up at Trevor; not really reading his reaction as much savoring the feeling of getting so many things off his chest.

"How have things going for you now, Ben," Trevor asked.

L laughed at the question feeling an odd sense of déjà vu.

_Liam, tell me, honestly, how are things going for you?_

How long ago did he read over that question in his file? How close was he to answering it with perfect honesty?

"Things have been worse, but they could be better," he replied. Just having an answer was a liberating feeling. "That's the entire reason why I'm here. I was too enveloped my world, the same answers and the same words circulating repeatedly to the point where all was polluted. I hoped this weekend I could get a different perspective, take some time to breathe."

"Has it been working for you?" Trevor asked.

L looked up at him, a smile forming on his face. He threw the lighter back on the pad, pulled his legs to a stand, and walked to the water. He glanced at Trevor before passing him and practically jogged to the surf.

His bare feet met the wet sand, savoring the chill of the water lapping over his toes. He threw his head back, damp hair falling down his back as he took a deep breath of sea air. The only light now was the dull glow from the streetlights; the blackness only adding to the atmosphere.

It was like a long void, a primordial place where nothing mattered; nothing existed but the wind, the surf, and the low, comforting screech of the airplane flying ahead.

L cleared his mind, taking deep breaths and focusing on the presence of all the elements around him. It was a moment of clarity he had not had in too long.

The light shuffling of sand from another set of feet molded itself into his surroundings. He kept his guard up, knowing that Trevor was directly behind him. L was about to turn around until he felt a pair of warm arms wrap around his body, a chin resting on his shoulder and cool skin rubbing against his face.

"I want you to remember something for me," Trevor said softly. "If you take away nothing else from this weekend, just remember there are people in this life who care about you to whatever degree. Though in the end the one person who truly matters is yourself; don't let that one relationship sour because it is the longest, most committed one you have."

The words sunk into Trevor's mind the moment he said them. Maybe that's what all this was about; maybe all the trials, all the hassles were a way for him to understand more about himself. Maybe shutting out the background noise in general and appreciating everything around him was the best way to make himself happy.

He did feel a heaving sigh from Ben, the words reaching him at some level; his tense muscles somewhat relaxed and he saw his eyes close for a second before turning back on him.

L reached up a hand to caress the side of Trevor's face, leaning in further and locking lips with his. Trevor loosened his embrace, letting L guide himself forward and wrap his arms around Trevor's shoulders. Trevor ran his hands down his back, wrapping them around L's waist and pulling him in closer.

Mouths were now partially open, tongues periodically joining. L's hands wandered across his shoulders and over his chest as sighs escaped them both. Trevor slowly bent his knees, guiding them both down into a sit on the sand. L pushed him back further, straddling his legs with his knees as Trevor rested on his elbows; fingers digging into the sand and back arching with every kiss and caress over his neck and shoulders.

The wind picked up, sending L's hair flying in his face though a few head shakes fixed that. The breeze and the spray of ocean cleansed the atmosphere, making L feel lighter, freer.

Flowing mist was now drizzle and soon falling rain that chilled their skin and brought their attention away from each other and toward the clouds. Another airplane flew overhead creating more of a distraction.

L and Trevor looked at each other through the building rain.

"I think we should continue this at my place," Trevor said.

"I'm cold, I agree," L said.

Trevor stretched to a stand, wrapping his arms around L and guiding him upright. L picked up his now soaking sneakers from the sand in one hand while grabbing Trevor's pad, pencil, and lighter in the other hand. He handed them back to Trevor with a glance. Trevor put the lighter and pencil in his pocket and cradled the pad under his arm before sprinting toward the street with L following closely behind.

L stopped for a second, looking back out at the now-blackened beach, following the sound of the surf to see churning waves on the horizon.

"This is our special spot," Trevor said before continuing back toward the street.

L nodded, giving the beach one last look before walking after him.

--------------

They were both drenched by the time they got to the platform at Orient Heights Station, though they laughed about it while wringing out their shirts and shaking their hair off on the while waiting for the train. A small water fight broke out between Trevor's socks and L's hair by the time the platform rumbled with the arriving train.

It was light chiding and small talk when they boarded. By Airport Station they were leaning against the wall in quiet. Trevor's head was against L's shoulder by Aquarium, the sparse few other passengers on in the car not paying any attention save for the occasional second glance.

They left the train at Government Center, walking out of the blue tiled corridor of the Blue Line toward the Green Line. They were holding hands when they walked under green tiles, separating for a moment to board the arriving C train.

They took seats in the back corner, Trevor sitting by the window and L taking his usual crouch on the other seat. His head rested against Trevor's shoulder and savored the warmth of Trevor's arm resting around his body.

Time stopped for them both, people passed by, the electronic voice overhead announced each stop. The screeching tracks played in the background and the shaking car pushed them closer.

The call for Arlington made Trevor take his arm back and L sit up in his seat, though their hands joined across Trevor's knee. A few minutes later the call for Copley put both on their feet and a rumbling stop later they were exiting the train and walking into the green-tiled hallway.

Not a word was passed in the station, up the stairs, or on the street. Hands were clasped; Trevor reached into one pocket of his jeans and eagerly played with his keychain while looking up at the purple sky through the mist.

They barely noticed when they reached Trevor's apartment building, though savoring the moment was replaced with anticipation of another moment when they reached the front stairs. Hands separated as both swiftly entered the building and walked up the stairs to the third floor.

Trevor stuck his key in the lock and turned it to open.

His hands were all over L the moment they entered the apartment with L clearing his mind and joining in. Trevor paused only to kick the door closed before L had him against the wall, lips pressed together, hands sneaking up the other's wet shirt to feel hot skin.

L's shirt was tossed on the floor in a second. L took a minute to savor the hands caressing his body, the kisses running up his jaw, the feeling of being completely comfortable for once.

His slender hands carefully peeled off Trevor's shirt, his own lips trailing down his neck. He just wanted to experience him, feel truly close in some way to this one individual.

L could feel Trevor's fingers reach the button of his pants. He pulled back for a moment, seeing Trevor's surprised look. He smiled and walked backward to the bed, falling back and opening his arms.

"Are you sure," Trevor said.

"I only request the usual precautions on your part, and that you be gentle," L replied.

Trevor nodded before collapsing in his embrace. Hands wandered further, trousers were soon off, Trevor took care of the first request by way of a small box beside the bed.

L looked up at the ceiling; cursing himself for a second for being in this vulnerable a position though reasoned the thought away. It was a risk, only that.

Trevor indeed accomplished the second request, the experience not as unpleasant as he expected though still awkward. The awkwardness soon melted away, replaced by pure bliss.

His head fell to the pillow, savoring the hands gently massaging his shoulders and the hot breath against his neck. He wrapped his arms around Trevor's back, pulling him closer. Happy sighs escaped him as he truly immersed himself in the moment.

L's eyes looked to the side a moment, suddenly connecting with Trevor's and they gazed at each other. Lively blue met hollow gray, though both saw nothing but comfort; the eyes of a sympathetic companion in these last few days of reckoning.

It was hardly a feeling of love for L, nor was it pure lust; it was comfort mixed with appreciation. It was the feeling of safely baring himself for a long while with the underlying comfort of keeping himself secure.

Such was the enigma of his existence; such was the series of calculated risks he lived by. For the first time in too long, he felt he could live with that.

The heat rose within him and he gave off soft moans. This was probably the most pleasurable encounter he had ever had. His head was back on the pillow, eyes closed, soft cries escaping him, a warm embrace around him and kisses running up his cheek.

Cries passed through both of them, and then it was over.

Trevor adjusted his body, looking down at L with a wide smile before gently resting his head on his chest and falling asleep; feeling fingers run through his hair.

-------

_There can be no better way of knowing_

_In a world beyond controlling  
Are you going to deny the savior  
In front of your eyes  
Stare into the night.  
Power beyond containing  
Are you going to remain a slave for  
The rest of your life?  
Give into the night_

Disturbed- "The Night"


	8. Part 8

**Calculated Risks**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities

**Part 8**

**June 2, 2003**

**Boston**

Trevor was calmly awakened by the ray of struggling sunlight through the curtains. He focused on the window to reorient himself while feeling the light thumping of Ben's heart against his face.

His eyes wandered up, seeing Ben's eyes open and staring up at the ceiling. The dark circles under his eyes were even more noticeable with this angle and lighting; it was only now when he realized how worn he looked. Then again he hadn't had the easiest life, what little he said on the beach told enough.

Trevor gazed into those gray, haunting eyes that made no indication if they noticed someone staring. Ben looked completely lost in thought, but Trevor could not blame him for that either.

L's eyes turned downward, meeting Trevor's. An arm wrapped tighter around Trevor's body, pulling them closer.

"What time is it," Trevor said with a tired grunt.

L craned his neck to see the alarm clock beside the bed.

"7:15," L said, laying his head back on the pillow.

He could feel Trevor's hard sigh and nod against his chest.

"What time did you need to get going," Trevor asked, sounding as if he was afraid of the answer.

"Soon," L replied. "At least before 9, I'd say. I need to get my things out of my hotel room first."

Trevor laughed.

"I hope you didn't spend too much on a room," Trevor said, "though I bet this little diversion wasn't in your plans."

L thought about it for a moment and chuckled.

"A minor loss, a huge gain in my opinion," L said, giving Trevor a light kiss on the forehead.

Trevor's hand rested on L's chest, the tip of his index finger playing with a thin patch of hair under his collarbone.

"I'm never going to see you again, am I," Trevor said in a matter-of-fact way, though his voice betrayed some sadness.

"You probably won't," L replied; his answer blunt but honest.

Trevor sighed, though a smile was on his face. The answer didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. L felt him nod.

Trevor lifted his head, pulling his body up so his arms were folded across L's chest.

"Regardless, I don't think I will forget you very easily," Trevor said. "I won't be putting that painting in closet; in fact I will probably finish it when you leave just to remind myself."

L ran a hand through his dyed-green hair, looking into those lively blue eyes.

"And I don't plan on forgetting you too soon either," he said with a sigh. It was the truth at least for now.

He gently pulled Trevor's head down for a kiss, this one not passionate but comfortable; a variation on a good-bye kiss maybe.

Trevor's hands grasped the side of L's face, caressing it and hands running across his chest and down his shoulders. Trevor then carefully pulled back, looking into Ben's gray eyes and savoring the moment before blinking and turning away. Trevor slowly lifted himself up, rolling off the bed and coming to a stand. This was the final signal for L; the moment when it would be best if he slowly eased himself away.

Trevor walked into the bathroom and L could hear the spray of the shower. He remained in the bed for a moment, looking around the apartment through fading sunlight when his eyes met his painted likeness that still rested on the easel.

He gradually pulled himself up to a sit, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress and landing on the floor, slowly walking toward the easel with his eyes fixed on the image in the painting.

L gazed at the painting; the toned muscles coming to his attention first before the scar. This was himself to the bare skin. He had laid himself completely open before a complete stranger in mind and body; allowed his shell to molt for at least one weekend.

What would happen from here on? He would have to keep his mind open to everything, that was the best answer he had and the best one he could have come up with through this entire experience.

L always lived with the reality that the next major case could be his last in whatever respect, though maybe that thought could make him even more reckless and that wasn't entirely a bad thing. What happened from here was up to fate and he accepted that completely.

The shower turned off and L heard Trevor stepping onto the floor, a towel going over his skin for a moment before he stepped back into the room.

"Any preferences for how I should finish it," Trevor said, walking to the bureau on the side and opening one drawer.

"However you wish," L said. "Or rather, finish it with however you want to remember me by."

Trevor pulled a pair of briefs out of the drawer and put them on, reaching into another drawer for a pair of khaki cargo pants. He tried to find words in response as he watched Ben walk into the bathroom himself.

Trevor put his pants on and walked over to the painting, hearing the bathroom sink turn on and give him some background noise to process his thoughts. He would leave the painting alone for at least the day, or maybe he would do something with it the moment Ben left, a decision best made after the fact.

The water turned off and Ben walked out of the bathroom. Trevor looked around to see his long toes curl around the waistband of his boxers and flip them in the air before catching them and putting them on. Trevor clapped and Ben gave a low bow in response before bending lower to grab his jeans.

Trevor walked to couch and picked up his sketchpad, opening it for a moment to the sketch he did of Ben the night before.

"What will you do with that one," L asked, zipping up his jeans and reaching down for his sweatshirt.

"Haven't decided," Trevor said. "Any requests?"

L shrugged as he pulled his head through the shirt, his lanky arms following. Trevor took one final gaze at his toned torso, savoring the sight of his chest, then his abdomen as both disappeared under the baggy shirt. The image of that scar resonated with him; a scar gained from personal hardships that Trevor could never imagine and never wanted to.

Maybe he had already learned to appreciate what he had; savor his own struggles for they would make him who he was. In the end, however, he at least had people in his life no matter how much he struggled and fought with them. Hopefully Ben could finally realize the same.

Trevor turned to a blank page and ripped off a corner of the paper. He crouched down, putting the paper on the coffee table and picking up a felt pen.

L looked over, seeing Trevor writing a series of numbers that were obviously a phone number with another number and an email address soon on the paper as well. Trevor stretched to a stand and walked over to L, who put his hand out and took the paper.

"I don't expect you to give me yours, nor do I expect you to call me," Trevor said, "but I would feel weirder not giving this to you."

L looked at the numbers, seeing two different Massachusetts area codes and local exchanges for a landline and a cell phone. He nodded and put the paper in his pocket, looking on the table and seeing a random grocery receipt with a cash payment. He picked up a pen from the table and wrote down the address for one of the hundred random email accounts he kept as a cover for simple information exchanges like this.

"I try not to use the phone as much as possible," he said, giving the paper to Trevor, "I don't even have a landline and just use my cell for business. I do check my email religiously."

Trevor nodded, fully accepting the answer given what little of Ben's background and personality he knew. He gave the paper a kiss before folding it and sticking it in his pocket.

L walked to the side and planted one bare foot in one sneaker, the other sliding on a moment later. He looked up, seeing Trevor's expression sad though framed with understanding.

Their gazes met for another moment, both knowing this was probably the last time they would see each other. The fact that meant something surprised both of them.

L walked forward and locked Trevor in an embrace. Trevor's lips met his in a warm kiss that spoke of calm passion. The kiss deepened for a moment, tongues meeting and hands finding firm holds on each others backs and shoulders.

A few seconds later, both gradually pulled away and gazed at each other one last time. Trevor ran a playful hand through L's hair before giving him a light kiss on the cheek.

"Good fortune in all you do, I suppose," L said.

"Same to you," Trevor said.

L loosened his embrace as he turned toward the door, not looking back.

He turned the knob and walked through the doorway without a word. The door closed and Ben was soon out of Trevor's sight. Trevor stood still for a moment, listening to the clomp of his sneakers against each descending stair.

Trevor then moved to the large window on the side, throwing open the curtain and wincing a little at the first burst of clouded daylight. His eyes adjusted to see Ben walk out onto the street and shuffle across the sidewalk.

Ben paused for a moment and looked up, seeing Trevor in the window and smiling.

Trevor threw him a light wave. Ben put the fingertips of his right hand to his lips, kissed them gently and raised his hand up with a calm smile. Trevor kissed his own fingertips and lowered them to Ben.

Ben gave one final nod before turning his gaze forward and continuing down the street. Trevor leaned against the windowsill and watched Ben grow farther away until he crossed the street and disappeared behind a building.

-----------

L slid his room card through the slot in the door, hearing the lock mechanism buzz and click as it unlatched. He slightly turned the handle to keep the door open while giving the sides of the door a careful inspection.

At last he opened it and walked in, keeping wary of his surroundings though relaxing somewhat at seeing the same room completely unoccupied and untouched.

Everything was how he had left it around 36 hours ago. The small suitcase lay on the same stand with the same partial opening to the zipper he had left last time. A fresh mint and comment card was on the pillow, indicating the room had received its regular turndown over the course of his absence though nothing else had been touched.

L reached down to the drawer under the television, opening it to reveal his laptop case still inside. The tip of his fingernail pushed town the tiny tab on the lock to deactivate the security mechanism as he lifted it from the drawer. For added measure, he unzipped the case and looked inside, seeing the computer still in its original place.

Normally he would not have abandoned his possessions in a room with easy access by hotel staff, a thought that made him a little more wary. The wariness about the whole subject passed with a smirk as he put the laptop on the bed. He had been in vacation mode after all and there had been no evidence of tampering with any of his possessions. He wasn't L on this trip, a thought that produced another ironic smile.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing the usual numbers for Watari's direct line and holding the phone to his ear. The change in dial-tone indicated the call went through the usual filters before a now-welcome voice was heard on the other end.

"Yes," Watari said.

"I will be taking my leave shortly and will likely be en route within the hour," L said.

"Understood," Watari said. "Arrangements have been made at Logan Airport and I will be ready at our usual meeting point for your arrival."

"Very good," L said, knowing to expect the car in the usual area outside Heathrow when he arrived in London sometime in the late evening.

"Are we a little more relaxed now," Watari said.

L could see the smile on his face just by his tone.

"Very relaxed indeed," L said with a small chuckle that Watari shared with him over the phone.

"I am most happy to hear that," Watari said. "I await your arrival."

"Understood, that is all," L said, pressing the red button on the phone and putting it back in his pocket.

Soon he was checking the pockets of the suitcase again for extra measure before opening the main part and producing one of his long-sleeved white shirts. He took the sweatshirt off, stuffing it in the suitcase before threading his arms through the comfortable jersey of one of his usual shirts. His eyes trailed briefly to the scar on his side, smiling as if telling it he was no longer bothered, and pulling the shirt fully over his body.

He then closed the suitcase and pulled it off the stand by the handle, reaching into his pocket and tossing his room card on the bureau. A second later the handle of his laptop case was in his other hand and he was soon walking for the door.

L turned the handle and paused for a moment, looking back at the disused room that had been the starting point for a true weekend adventure. His mindset then had been dark, even somewhat unstable in the face of quiet. Now he was looking on this room in the daylight, confident for a moment that things were different.

He pried his gaze away, the tip of his toe turning the handle and his shoulder pushing the door open. He took a cursory look through the hallway before walking through the doorway and letting it close behind him.

L then went down the elevator, checked out at the front desk, and walked through the doors onto the street. He stood on the sidewalk about to look for an approaching cab, though the corner of Copley Plaza came into view.

He allowed himself another walk to the side, some more time alone to savor the fresh, misty air before leaving Boston.

Copley Plaza was now illuminated in hazy sunlight as he crossed the street, though the clouds looked to be getting the upper hand. Wet patches marked sides of the sidewalk, though most of the area was dry. He walked through the wide, stone space for a moment, a perfect time to clear his thoughts, listen to the passing of cars and various conversations that passed.

He stood still, allowing the weight of the cases in his arms to anchor him as he took it all in; for the first time in too long he realized he was truly relaxed.

L closed his eyes for a second and centered himself, opening them again as he casually walked to the sidewalk just in time to raise his hand for an approaching white cab.

The vacation was everything he had needed. Now it was time to get back to work and see what the next day awaited him.

-----------

**October 31, 2003**

**Salem, Massachusetts**

The large bronze statue in Lappin Park was the type of cheesy artwork that amused Trevor greatly.

The four foot homage to the old TV series _Bewitched _was a likeness of Elizabeth Montgomery as her character Samantha sitting gracefully on a broomstick flying beside a bronze moon over a bronze cloud. She looked forward with a 60's housewife smile, shoulders arched, one hand delicately on the back of the broomstick and the other hand raised daintily in the air as if casting a spell or just posing.

Most of the locals thought it was tacky, several of the more vocal Wiccan activists publicly expressed their displeasure with it, yet a small horde of costumed tourists were now lying in wait a few feet away to get their pictures taken in front of it.

Trevor was now in the spot where everyone wanted to be, seeing people creeping forward though he stayed right where he was.

"Ok, guys, get closer," Jade said, looking through the viewfinder of her camera and motioning for her three companions to gather closer to the bronze effigy.

Sebastian teased out his long, curly hair and had put pink bows in the thick beard around his heavy face, which was coated in exaggerated women's makeup; red lipstick, thick black mascara, anything that would match his pink "bearded lady" dress. Carley moved closer in, the fake fur of her cat suit purposefully rubbed off in patches and covered in fake blood. She was a feral cat apparently.

"Trevor quit hiding behind the statue," Jade said, the high hem of her black-lace skirt flipping up a little more with each movement of her legs to get into a better position.

She was a sexy witch this year; she was a sexy witch almost every year though this time the bodice was bright orange and black and the large witch's hat was orange and furry.

Trevor took a few steps to the side, looking for the best position to do what he wanted for the shot. Jade pointed the camera and Trevor leaned closer to the statue, opening his mouth wide and exposing his resin fangs making like he was about to bite into Samatha's neck.

He found components of a black vintage suit in a second-hand store complete with a red bow tie and black fedora. The fangs came from a local costume shop and the white makeup and streaks of fake blood were from Wal-Mart. He just needed to slick back his now full, short, and dyed black hair to complete the look.

Jade giggled a little, snapping the photo of the bearded lady, the feral cat, and the undead gangster trying to bite a bronze witch.

"Ok, my battery is officially dead," Jade said.

"That means drinking time," Sebastian said, adjusting one of the bows in his beard.

"No that means Witches Dungeon time," Carley said. "Witches Dungeon! Witches Dungeon!"

"How about we head to Beer Works and then go to the Witches Dungeon," Jade said, putting her camera into her beaded purse.

"Beer Works is going to be a massive cluster-fuck right now," Trevor said. "Look guys it's Halloween, I say we hold off on the drinking 'til we get back to Boston and see some cheesy wax museums tonight."

"See, Trevor sees it my way," Carley said, patting a furry paw on Trevor's shoulder.

Trevor moved further away from the statue with the rest of his group following with him to let a group of robed Harry Potter enthusiasts take their place.

The sound of police sirens a few streets away gained all of their attention for a moment as they all looked in the direction of flickering blue lights behind a throng of witches, ghouls, and characters in varying costumes.

A lone, casually dressed man walked on the side, carrying a large sign saying "Repent, Accept Christ as Your Savior" while trying to pass out a few flyers. He earned a few jeers and dirty looks from other revelers and a few members of Trevor's group. Trevor just felt bad for him with all the drunken crazies around.

"Shit I am going to need to get batteries," Jade said. "CVS first then we talk."

The four of them gradually crept toward the brick crosswalk. The pocket of Trevor's jacket then vibrated with the sound of "Beethoven's 9th" slightly audible over the other background noise.

Trevor reached in his jacket for his cell phone, opening it to see an unlisted number on the screen. He shrugged then pushed the green button and took a few steps back from the group, who slowed to wait for him to take his call.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," a male voice said over the other end. It was unfamiliar to him at first, though the slow realization put a huge grin on his face. "Happy Halloween."

The voice was deep and calm, one he had thought about so many times in the last few months and one he thought he never thought he would hear again.

"Hey there," Trevor said with a laugh, "Ben, right?"

"You guessed it," Ben said on the other end with a chuckle. "I see you haven't forgotten me."

"One second," Trevor said, lowering the phone from his mouth but keeping it to his ear. "Hey guys, you go on ahead, I'll catch up."

"Anyone I know," Jade asked.

"It's Ben from Canada," Trevor said.

"Oh, hi Ben from Canada," Jade said, leaning toward the phone and waving. Sebastian and Carley did the same before Jade pushed them forward. "Trevor we'll be at CVS and that area."

"Ok, meet you there," Trevor said. He turned the phone back to his mouth. "Sorry about that, I'm in Salem with a few friends."

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Ben said.

"No you don't."

"You're right, I don't."

Trevor laughed in response, sitting down on one of the benches on the corner of the square and puling out his fake fangs.

"Well to what do I owe the pleasure?" Trevor asked.

"Making a few of my usual October 31 phone calls," Ben said. "It's a birthday ritual for me."

"You're shitting me, today's your birthday," Trevor said with a laugh.

"There's no way I would lie about something as bizarre as that."

"Well happy birthday, creepy baby. May I ask…"

"24," Ben said, almost reading Trevor's mind. "And thank you. You would be pleased to know I just listened to my seven-year-old nieces sing me a song over the phone."

"Oh, gee that's too sweet," Trevor said. "So how have things been going for you?"

"Most excellent actually. I have since visited both my siblings and we have talked over the phone a few more times than in the past."

"Oh that's great to hear. Happier, I hope."

"I would say so. I keep myself busy as always, though I am a lot more relaxed. Now enough about me, let's talk about you. I recognized Jade's voice, does this mean you two talked?"

"As a matter of fact we had a rather long, dramatic conversation literally a few hours after you left. There was some screaming involved, though some calm words snuck through and we worked out pretty much everything. Jade moved back into the apartment and she was taking care of the bulk of the rent until last month."

"Until last month?"

"Yes, I am back among the work force," Trevor said with a wide smile. "I looked for one job and was so lucky that I found two."

Ben chuckled over the phone, clearly getting the meaning.

"I am bartending at this little hole in the wall near BC, the pay's ok but the tips are awesome," Trevor continued. "I also am working at a specialty stationary store in Cambridge for some extra snack money. Needless to say my mom's off my case about coming back. I've built up enough to pay a good share of the rent, plus it's great networking. In fact one of my co-workers at the card place is helping me set up a website for my art. I'll send you the URL when all the codes are cleaned up; I still have your address."

"I would appreciate that," Ben said.

This was actually the first time since June that Trevor remembered that Ben had given him an email address. The address was probably still on his end table after being taken out of his pocket before doing laundry. Ben wasn't mentioning anything and he did not sound too upset, meaning he probably didn't care.

"Look, Ben, I didn't really get the chance to thank you for that weekend," Trevor said. "You stuck with me for two days of drama, and I've got to hand it to you for that."

"No, I should thank you," Ben said. "I'll be honest, that weekend was a turning point for me. You kept me from being alone, and I cannot begin to express my appreciation."

"Jesus, you're going to make me all teary eyed," Trevor said with a light laugh. "I really have to echo the thought. Things just kind of turned around from that point, like I got a new perspective. I just hope you have been happy, that's all that matters to me."

There was a pause; he could hear Ben sighing a little.

"I finished that painting," Trevor said, his voice cracking for a moment.

"You did?" Ben said.

"The background is nothing fancy, just shows my living room," Trevor continued. "I hope you don't mind but I did another one too from the sketch of you I did at the beach. I remember I saw you playing with my lighter a bit and it just did this awesome illumination. The painting has you holding a candle, though I did away with the shirt."

"I'm sure it's beautiful," Ben said with a laugh.

Silence resumed save for the sound of each other's light breathing.

"I hate to cut this off, but I have a large cake waiting for me right now," Ben said.

"No problem," Trevor said with an almost embarrassed chuckle. "Listen, it was awesome hearing from you Ben. Happy birthday and many good fortunes."

"The same to you, Trevor," Ben said. "Enjoy your Halloween."

The other end went silent. Trevor gradually pried the phone from his ear and looked down to see the usual menu settings listed on the screen.

He stared at the phone, his hand shaking. Trevor took a few heaving breaths as his heart raced with the feeling of growing warmth in his chest. He put the phone back in his pocket, casually rising from the bench with a beaming grin.

"Yes!" Trevor cried, throwing his arms in the air and cackling.

A few passers by gave him off looks, though he didn't care. He practically skipped off the curb, soles of his shoes meeting the bricks across Essex Street; arms were in the air as he spun around, dodging other revelers and breathing in the smell of autumn air and exhaust as if it was a perfume.

He lowered his arms and sprinted to the other side of the street and another brick walkway, the initial rush wearing off though he still felt giddy.

Jade's orange hat could be seen through the crowd next to the mangled fabric ears of Carley's cat suit. Ben's deep, comforting voice still resonated through Trevor's mind, the sound of passing conversations and scary music from a stereo somewhere were mere background noise.

He casually popped his fangs back over his teeth and walked forward into the rest of his Halloween.

------------

**November 1, 2003**

**London**

It was a new text file simply labeled 11_01_03.

_Dear Self,_

_You would be pleased to know that I took your advice and have greatly benefited._

_The case load is heavy as usual, though not as punishing. I have actually been taking a few hours more out of my time to relax, mostly meditate or hone my skills in the martial arts. Capoeira is actually quite relaxing, strenuous though with overall rewards._

_Should the worst happen I do have three young men in Winchester to take my title. As for exactly who, I will abstain from naming one immediately; in fact I believe they are all capable, Near and Mello in particular despite their regular bickering._

_I actually just got off the phone with my weekend companion from Boston, made him part of Liam Lawliet's round of birthday phone calls. He fares well from what I understand. He told me that weekend was a turning point for him, said he gained a new perspective on his own life. A "for the grace of God go I" perspective perhaps, though whatever helps him I suppose._

_As for myself, can I say things are any different after that weekend affair with a complete stranger? I would be lying if I gave an answer either way, though I would rather not think in such terms. _

_What I do know is that phone call did provide me with some measure of closure; the grand story ends here and I am ready for the next chapter. A grand story it was indeed; maybe that was the ultimate purpose of my trip. Maybe I needed a nice, light story along with some recreation and a dash of physical pleasure. _

_Maybe I should make it a habit of taking regular personal enjoyment in a form that is not more puzzles and more deductions. It is probably best to play that by ear._

_Regardless, I can tell you are already happy with the results whatever they may be._

_Sincerely,_

_Liam_

L looked at the words he just written and finished with a smile.

He then closed the file, put up the layers of encryption, and shut down the laptop in time for the succession of tones and the large W appearing across the screen of his other monitor.

He closed the laptop and placed it off to the side, pressing the button on the microphone and leaning in while shaking a few locks of black hair from his face.

"What is it, Watari," he said.


	9. Part 9

**Calculated Risks**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Author's Note:The quote near the end of the chapter is from William Shakespeare's "Macbeth."

**Part 9**

**April 21, 2009**

**Los Angeles**

A pick-up truck pulled away from the gas pump with a squeal accompanied by the heavy bass on their stereo. Mello could see a middle aged man with a turban and a bushy, graying beard look out the glass door at the departing vehicle before shaking his head and continuing to sweep the store floor.

The sounds of traffic and various yells carried through the air from the glowing Sunset Strip a few blocks over. This part of town was the dead end of civilization, though too close to it for even the worst of society to care.

The lone 7-Eleven stood beside a few pawn shops and bail bond places that had all closed for the night. Graffiti lined the brick walls and aluminum dumpsters, though there were no gatherings of drug dealers or local thugs. Not even a stray cat was found.

The glass phone booth a few feet away from the building further cemented this as the ideal spot. The booth was still connected to the overhead phone lines and the phone looked to be completely in tact. Even the small wooden shelf beside it was untouched, though the scattered beer cans, cigarette butts, food wrappers, and random graffiti scrawls showed it was either well used or relatively neglected.

Mello reached into the pockets of the brown leather trench coat he wore for occasions when he wanted to be a little more inconspicuous.

The humming silence was broken by the metallic clink and snap of a cigarette lighter behind him. Mello casually looked back to see Matt following a few feet behind as he was asked to do.

Matt lit his cigarette, slipping his lighter back into the pocket of his brown, fur-trimmed vest. His movements were a little tenser and his eyes darted to the side behind the amber lenses of his goggles, motions that did not surprise Mello at all.

He was annoyed with Mello's next plan; he never said it, though he may as well have screamed it, it looked all the same to Mello. A small part of his opinion on the matter was said as they left Matt's apartment:

"If you don't like what he says, don't take it out on me and for fucks sake don't hunt him down for it."

Mello had no intention of doing either, though he got over any apprehension he had about doing this yesterday. Now he needed to make this call and it would drive him mad if he never did. Courtesy to Trevor Skye was only a tiny reason among so many more selfish ones, but that didn't matter in the long run.

He had rehearsed how this would work out a billion times in his head from exactly where the call would take place to how the conversation would go.

Meeting him in person for this was absolutely out of the question as was calling him on his cell phone for the exact same reason. He needed to get in touch with Skye in such a way that could not be traced back to him later; reasons mostly having to do with Trevor's safety and reputation. A mafia boss talking to an artist at an exclusive gallery showing was a mundane scenario, though being associated with that same individual outside could have complications.

It was the same matter with his cell phone. The phone itself was untraceable though a good hacker or communications expert could trace each other's numbers back to each other's phones in any scenario especially if either Mello's or Skye's phones had been lost or fallen into the hands of the police or other Mafioso's.

Having this conversation in a phone booth on a dead side of town was the best bet. Mello gently thumbed the cheap phone card in his pocket as he pulled out his chocolate bar. He would dial a 1-800 number and a series of codes before dialing Trevor's number, meaning the actual number he dialed would not be Trevor's so the connection would be blurred even further.

The one card he didn't have on him at the moment was Trevor's business card; another precaution. Mello memorized the number before leaving the apartment. If he forgot it or dialed it wrong, that was God saying the conversation was truly a bad idea.

Caution for his safety was the only thing Mello was really giving Skye; it was the least he could do for him. Besides L might have wanted to kick his ass for putting him in danger, then again L could have wanted to kick his ass for what he was about to tell him.

Mello played the story in his head as he walked closer to the phone booth. Truths would be involved where it mattered, though the rest was fabricated. He played with the small supposition that Skye may have been part of business as well as pleasure, an unlikely scenario but one could never be too careful.

Another check over of Skye's website the day before did not reveal the paintings nor was anyone named "Ben" ever mentioned. Mello even checked Skye's MySpace and Facebook pages to be sure, seeing only the occasional reference to visiting his parents or buying a gift for his nephews among the usual list of appearances and creative explanations and ideas. Still, no paintings and no "Ben."

L could have been another cheap lay to him; a thought that almost offended Mello. However, like Matt said, he couldn't take that out on him.

Mello pulled out the phone card and walked though the open wall of the booth, laying his chocolate bar down on the shelf while picking up the receiver. Matt walked to the side, standing a few feet away and pulling out his PSP while keeping an eye on the perimeter.

Mello dialed the number on the card then entered the code on the prompt followed by Trevor's cell phone number. He crumpled the paper card in his hand and put it in his pocket while picking up his chocolate and hearing a few ring tones.

The tones broke with the sound of humming silence from the other end for a slight second, the last time Mello had to rehearse his story.

"Hello," the voice said on the other end. It was Skye's casually chipper tone, making Mello take another deep breath.

"Trevor, it's Mello," he said in a bold, yet casual voice. "We met at the gallery last night."

"Oh hey there, Mello," Skye said, his voice becoming more flirty. "How nice of you to call me, now I know those business cards are of some use after all."

"You killed a tree for a good purpose, congratulations," Mello said, quietly nibbling a small corner of his chocolate bar.

"So what's up with you," Skye said. "I'm still in LA right now, taking off tomorrow afternoon to meet with Stuart again about the next volume."

The insinuation was obvious. Mello looked at Matt, seeing his focus still on the game console though Matt always heard all.

"The next volume, nice," Mello said, enjoying the momentary distraction of Trevor Skye, fabulous artist as opposed to Trevor Skye, L's weekend screw. "Look Trevor there's something I needed to talk to you about and it has to do with a couple of the paintings in your show."

Trevor audibly sighed, probably knowing exactly which ones Mello was referring to.

"It's the ones of that handsome devil near the back corner isn't it," Trevor said. "I saw you guys looking at those. The professional response would be 'Hate to disappoint you, but none of those paintings are for sale,' but I think buying them isn't what you're asking me about."

"So what am I asking you about?"

"Look, ever hear of Cynthia Plaster Caster? She was a well-traveled groupie in the 60's who would do plaster casts of the genitalia of every rock star she fucked. Yeah, that's not me. I don't collect men in either reality or in image form and I certainly hope those paintings did not give that suggestion."

"No, that's not the issue at all," Mello said, trying to keep his cool and keep the conversation as casual as possible. "What you do with your sex life is your business and I don't give a shit." He paused for a moment, pulling the receiver away slightly so he could take a full bite from the bar, letting it melt in his moth while getting ready for what he was going to say next. "Trevor, I know the guy in the painting."

There was silence on the other end. Mello expected some nervous question about whether he was an old boyfriend, though he heard a soft yet somewhat excited chuckle.

"Holy shit, you know Ben?" Trevor practically choked out.

This took the conversation into a direction Mello had also prepared for, though was both pleasantly surprising and painful to hear.

"Yeah, we knew him, both myself and Matt, the other guy you met that night," Mello said, sticking to the story he had already rehearsed. "We grew up in the same neighborhood. He was several years older than us so we didn't exactly hang out, but he moved out, became rather successful, and us kids just admired him. When he was around he was like a big brother, but he wasn't around a lot."

It wasn't until he felt the bar break in his hand that Mello realized how hard he had been clutching it. He put it back in his pocket, bracing himself against the ache in his stomach as the meaning of his story settled in his own mind.

"Oh that's so nice," Trevor said, voice taking more of an anxious edge. "So do you still talk to him, maybe hear about what he's been up to?"

Mello leaned rested his elbow against the wooden shelf as he felt more light headed. He gave a glance to Matt, whose game was still in his hand though audibly paused.

Mello moved the receiver aside and took a few deep breaths. This was going to be harder to say than he thought, though it needed to be said. He had to share this with someone. He then put the mouth piece back up.

"Trevor," Mello said, mentally cursing the tightening in his throat, "Ben passed away about four years ago."

There was only silence on the other end that lingered for a few agonizing seconds.

"May I ask how," Trevor said, his voice cracking and tone in genuine disbelief.

He was murdered! Mello wanted to say it though literally bit his tongue to keep from screaming it out.

"It was his heart," Mello said. Kira killed with heart attacks after all, though a heart attack in a 25-year-old would take a little explaining. "I think it was an aortic aneurism, no one knew he had any problems until it was too late."

He cringed with the completion of the story, feeling like he was telling the most disgusting lie in the universe. He was doing this for L's sake, for Trevor's, for Matt's, for everyone at Wammy's House, for his own. The exact message didn't matter in the end.

"I know it's none of my business, but I have to ask: was it natural causes," Trevor said.

No it wasn't natural fucking causes! He was murdered! Kira killed him!

Mello's arm was shaking against the shelf. He wanted to reach through the phone and punch his face in for even asking.

"Look, I ask because he told me that weekend that he once tried to kill himself," Trevor continued, voice cracking even more.

Mello's stomach dropped and he felt numb.

"I don't know if you knew this but Ben told me he had been in some sort of accident a few months before we met," Trevor said. "I think he said it was a waterskiing accident and he was hurt pretty badly, had this huge scar on his side from it. He said he never told anyone, but he said he purposely didn't fasten his line well."

The image of that scar was emblazoned in Mello's mind; a scar from taking a knife to the side, or at least that was what L said. A stabbing might be a little harder to explain in a mundane situation though the message was the same.

Though why would L tell Skye he tried to kill himself, why would he even say something like that even if it were a lie?

The realizations rushed through Mello's brain.

The L.A.B.B. Murders; it had to have been a few months after the L.A.B.B. Murders. A's suicide, B's killing spree; L was human that had to have affected him in some way.

How about solving over 3,500 crimes— murders, rapes, mutilations, starting at the age of eight; how did that affect him?

The Century's Greatest Detective. How great must his burden be? So great he planned one case that would lead to being killed in the line of duty? What would happen if he actually survived, if the stab wound healed?

Maybe he would take on another case that he knew he would never walk away from; one of supernatural murder. Maybe he wanted a case that would give him the greatest achievement in his life, an unprecedented victory, the ultimate challenge to further encourage him or give him something to hang his hat on…or the eternal rest he truly longed for.

Mello rested his head against his hand with all the realizations and all the questions that L probably made sure would never be answered.

"No, I assure you it was nothing like that," Mello said, having some difficulty finding his own voice. "Ben was doing everything he loved right up to the end. Did you ever hear from him after that weekend?"

"He called me on Halloween of that year, said it was his birthday and he was calling a few of his family members," Trevor said. "I remember he said he just heard his little nieces singing to him."

Mello could see L doing that, right up to the story about having little nieces. Mello didn't want to think on if he was telling the truth.

"We talked for a little bit then we hung up, I think we were on the phone for like ten minutes or something," Trevor continued, the strain even more evident in his voice. "I never heard from him again after that, we just…we just kind of moved on with our lives."

Mello nodded. A silence fell between them and Mello worked up some words to gently end this conversation.

"Look Mello, what we did in '03 wasn't just about who ass-fucked the other, who used who, who was whoever's good time," Trevor said, voice shaking.

"Trevor I really don't need to hear this," Mello said.

"No, you do need to hear this," Trevor suddenly snapped.

Mello was ready to slam the phone down or start screaming, though he remained still. His elbow dug harder against the wooden shelf and his fingers clutched his hair.

"That weekend was one of the most amazing times in my life," Trevor said through a clear sob, "everything up until that point was turning to shit and somehow when Ben and I stumbled across each other things were different. I felt like I had met someone in this world who got it. Maybe it was someone who had been through more shit than I had but someone who seemed to need another person in his life too even for just that weekend."

The pressure built behind Mello's eyes. He could hear Matt stepping closer to the phone booth but did not look up. He pressed the top of his head against the plexiglass, taking deep breaths.

"Ben was just this amazingly unique person," Trevor continued. "He had this way about him that would make sure you never forgot him, everything from those gorgeously haunting eyes of his to that deep serenity that just defined everything he did. I only knew him for two days, but dear fucking God I never forgot about him."

Mello closed his eyes and let a few tears sneak down his cheeks.

"That was just who he was," Mello said, his voice in a softer tone to mask his own urge to start sobbing. "You met him once, everything about him resonated. He was an old soul, like you said; you just wanted to hear him talk because you felt like you gained amazing knowledge from him. Or you just wanted to hear that voice."

"Yeah," Trevor said, his own tone matching Mello's. "He made you feel special when you were around him, even when he didn't speak."

Mello put a hand over the mouth piece and let out a few sobs before taking a few more breaths and removing his hand from the mouthpiece.

"Look, Trevor, I need to get going," Mello said in a much stronger voice. "I do appreciate this little talk."

"No, Mello, I can't thank you enough for calling me and telling me," Trevor said. "That was really good of you to do that considering how hard it must have been. You guys have my sincerest condolences."

"And you have mine," Mello said. "I want you to take those paintings and treasure them. You were given a truly unique opportunity with an amazing human being."

"I will, believe me I will," Trevor said.

"You keep up the good work, can't wait to see the next volume," Mello said. "Bye now."

He put the receiver back on its hook and stood still for a second. He imagined himself walking from the phone booth, but lacked all strength to go through with it.

He felt a slight shift in the booth of Matt leaning against it, probably staring at him but he didn't care. He didn't care about anyone who may have been passing outside or anyone in the universe for that matter who would give a damn about what was going on here.

Both elbows now rested on the shelf. Mello buried his face in his hands and started sobbing. Everything gushed out at once like a river that had been building behind a dam; churning and building pressure until the dam broke.

His fingers clutched his hair hard and he leaned further against the plexiglass as if wanting to bury himself in this moment. Rough sobs were soon quiet wails.

He needed this; every new revelation, every gut-wrenching word of the conversation, every single memory of every single detail of L right up to Roger's horrifying announcement. Mello was suddenly 14 again and sitting on a rock in the old gravel pit near Wammy's House, the rain matching every tear he shed for his fallen hero.

Mello's sobs gradually calmed, the initial tidal wave passed and leaving a mess of salty tears on his face and a pounding in his temples.

His memory suddenly went back to his Shakespeare class. The teacher was a pompous ass and he could give or take the analysis, though one line suddenly floated through his mind.

_Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it._

Macbeth. Malcolm's words to Macduff upon learning his family had been slaughtered… on the orders of a murderous usurper.

This was why he was doing this. This was ultimately why he called Skye in the first place; someone else needed to feel the pain of this atrocity and if Trevor Skye had expressed none than Mello would make sure he understood.

Mello took his elbows off the shelf and stood up, wiping his tear-stained hands on the sides of his jacket while looking forward with resolve. He put his hands in his pockets, took out his chocolate bar, and walked from the phone booth.

Matt fell into step beside him, but Mello only looked ahead. His blue eyes practically glowed behind a blood-shot background and his lip curled in a calm sneer.

"Happy now?" Matt said, flicking his cigarette butt into the street.

"Quite," Mello said.

He would recount the conversation to Matt when they got back to the apartment, but now he needed quiet.

Mello unwrapped a corner of his chocolate bar. His eyes trailed to the side and met square with Matt's, seeing a look of concern mixed with annoyance. He gave a tired smirk, seeing Matt shake his head and do the same.

"Still have some of that Chinese in the fridge," Mello said, taking a bite from the chocolate.

"Yeah," Matt said, pulling his pack of cigarettes from his vest pocket. "I take it you want some."

"Yeah," Mello said. "I'm hungry as hell and have a few things I want to share."

Matt pulled out a cigarette, lighting it as Mello took a few more bites from his chocolate. Comfortable silence was all that passed between them on the walk home.

---------

The folder was simply labeled "2003."

Trevor stared at the icon for a moment, now realizing his hand was shaking.

At last he moved his finger across the touchpad to the folder and double-clicked.

A series of thumbnails appeared on the screen; the photos of every painting he had done in his old studio apartment that year. Miniature versions of Jade's naked form were peppered with skeletons and Boston landmarks.

Then there was one outline of a bare, male form around the middle of the picture viewer. He moved the cursor and clicked on it with no hesitation.

Ben leaned back against his art table, gazing at him with a calm smile.

Trevor stared at the painting, feeling the warmth from his skin, the strands of thick, black hair through his fingers. That gaze pierced through him as if those eyes were right there and fixed on him.

Maybe they were. Maybe they were looking on him from some ethereal place where he couldn't see them, but felt them as intensely as he did nearly six years ago.

Trevor raised his hand and gently kissed his index finger. His eyes were fixed with Ben's as he tapped his finger against his lips on the screen.

**Author's Note: **Next chapter, the conclusion of "Calculated Risks."


	10. Epilogue

**Calculated Risks**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

**Epilogue**

**May 31, 2010**

**New York City**

He labeled the file 05_31_10, the icon appearing for a moment against the empty desktop before the program opened and a blank page flashed across the screen.

He stared at it for a moment, his finger finding a lock of white hair to twist in contemplation, or was that hesitation. It was best just to write the words as they came; this was just a brainstorming session on a blank field.

At last the words and the format came to him.

_It could be said that I just officially solved one of my most mundane and most useless puzzles. _

_The subject matter is of the type that I will typically ignore unless it is its own piece in a grander puzzle of the personal interests and motivations of key players in a more significant case. _

_It was less a formal case and more a side, hobby project that I picked at between other cases over a three month period. In the end I was content with having partial and circumstantial conclusions, though the ultimate conclusion presented itself to me today._

Near paused for a moment, looking at the words he had just written and felt a little uncomfortable. Honesty was the best policy with himself and no one was going to read this.

_That is at least the impressions I would prefer to have regarding these specific deductions. I need to admit I have much more personal and perhaps emotional interest in this "case." It could be argued that on a personal level this particular discovery could have even more significance to me than other cases or at least gave me some answers I never knew I wanted. _

_I do not care to dwell on sentimentality, though I cannot deny some strong feelings I have toward this puzzle. It is not just a puzzle; it is an even bigger riddle with a more hypothetical solution. _

_This is a brief narrative of these specific findings with conclusions saved until the end._

_Two weeks after the conclusion of the Kira investigation, I ordered Lidner, Gevanni, and Rester to locate every one of Mello's hideouts aside from the two in Los Angeles that had been raided. When located they were to be thoroughly searched orders in teams of two, bringing back any paper notes, business cards, cell phones, computers, cameras, or any other data storage devices for analysis for evidence on the Kira case or any other information on current and past organized crime activities._

_By the end of March of 2010, six spaces were located; four in Los Angeles, one in New York, and one in Tokyo. Upon further research, none of Mello's immediate Mafia associates were seen or traced back to any of these small apartments. These were likely spaces Mello kept for his own uses, whether for the Kira investigation or his own personal haven. Of the six of them, four had as many of Matt's personal effects as Mello's and Matt was identified by the landlady of one apartment in downtown Los Angeles to be the renter. _

_It was in this one apartment on West Broadway in Los Angeles that Gevanni found scraps of burnt cloth buried under the cushion of the couch. This was likely part of the clothing Mello wore the night of the raid on November 10, 2009 when his associates died on the pages of Light Yagami's Death Note and Mello sustained serious burns after destroying his own hide-out. As are no records of anyone by Mello's exact description with Mello's exact injuries at any of the hospitals, clinics, or doctors offices any where in the Los Angeles area, meaning Mello holed up in this one apartment, likely tended to by Matt. _

_In the apartment in the Shibuya district of Tokyo, Lidner found a manila envelope containing 164 printed pages. She immediately brought it to my attention and I read it promptly._

_The document was a detailed description on the Los Angeles BB Murders narrated by Mello, who said L personally told him the details of the case. The pages also contained Mello's own analysis on Beyond Birthday's motivations as well as words of clear respect and lamentation for L. It is believed Mello wrote this in Tokyo, and according to the file on the personal computer found in that apartment, he did it over eight hours on the night of January 24, 2010. _

_It was clear he printed out all the pages and left them to be found by someone, though I know I was the intended recipient; Mello's occasional jabs at me may as well have been gift tag. That is what made me think to inside the envelope and see a series of characters written inside with a pencil._

_I cut open the envelope and turned it inside out to see what was inside. Written on it were a ten digit number and a few words scrawled in Mandarin: "You need this."_

_It took me five minutes to determine the significance of the number, recognizing the first three digits as a Los Angeles area code and the remaining seven digits of an American phone number. Dialing the number and receiving a recorded message from a wireless company told the number existed but was out of service. _

_As a cursory measure, the numbers of the five cell phones taken from all six apartments were checked and the number in the envelope matched with a phone taken from the apartment on Broadway in Los Angeles. The phone was clearly Matt's given the amount of mobile games that had been downloaded onto it and the list of dialed and received calls were all from numbers of mundane sources. _

_It was Rester who made a brief comment about finding a few items in the picture folder that did not seem to match what was known of Matt. I accessed the picture folder, seeing two photographs of two different paintings that looked to have the same male model: a man who looked near exactly like Liam Lawliet, the original L._

_For understanding purposes, I have met my predecessor personally on two occasions. One took place in December of 2002, though I only allowed myself a brief glance and did not care to meet him personally. A year later, literally days after challenging Kira on Japanese television, he arranged a more formal meeting at Wammy's House though made it brief. I will not go into the exact details of that meeting, though it was long enough to study his facial features and basic mannerisms._

_I analyzed the photos, making the conclusion that the facial features of the individual in the paintings match L's based on my own experiences and from two known and carefully hidden photographs taken of him within the years before he died. One was a photo kept on file, likely the one used by his representatives to help identify his body. The second was a photo taken in 2000 of him with his two siblings that he kept on one laptop under heavy encryption._

_As soon as the "who" was cleared up, the greater puzzle of "how" presented itself. Both paintings bore the same signature at the bottom right hand corner: "T Skye 2003." It was a relatively easy match to the popular artist Trevor Skye._

_After another search of the Broadway apartment, three volumes of the graphic novel "Confessions of a Psychopath" (with illustrations by Trevor Skye) were located and one of the laptops, likely Mello's, contained URL's for Skye's art and networking sites. _

_The date and time of the photos matched with the exact date and time of a private gallery reception for Skye at the Museum of Contemporary Art, which the guest list contained three known organized crime associates with Mello likely appearing as a guest of one of them. A more careful sifts through the contents of that apartment also revealed a business card on which Skye's name and contact information were written._

_As for the remaining questions, L himself pointed us in the right direction._

_Inheriting L's title meant inheriting the access codes to his files, including one folder located on a laptop that contained a series of personal observations; most related to previous cases, though several were more personal in nature. _

_I found one of these files dated November 1, 2003 in which L mentioned a "companion in Boston." He did not name any names, though mentioned that this individual was a stranger with which he had an affair during a weekend. The date matches with the date on the paintings and Skye's residency in Boston has been mentioned in numerous places._

_The connection was strong, though not concrete. I could have had Skye contacted about the subject of the painting under the guise of an art patron or a critic, though I resisted the temptation. I believe I was satisfied with what information I had. This was not a major case, this was just side research._

_However, Trevor Skye himself did provide that one missing piece and it appeared on his website just this morning. _

_Volume 4 of "Confessions of a Psychopath" was released on May 1. Out of curiosity, I did skim over the volumes that had been found in Mello's apartment. The story and the illustrations read like an existential urban nightmare. _

_I will take a moment to note the novel contains an occasional nod to criminals' fear of unknown forces with one character, a police chief, who will appear on television while wearing a mask. If only Skye knew the man he was referencing with that menacing black hood was a man he shared his bed with, though I digress. _

_In this universe, the main protagonist (a schizophrenic serial killer named Elijah) has visions of Heaven as a riotous biker bar called "Feather's Bar" where the patrons all have white wings. _

_Skye and his collaborator Stuart Faris have both said in their respective blogs that some of the "angels" in the background are loved ones who had died. If one looks close enough, Faris' father can be seen tending bar on Volume 2 and the artist Miguel Juarez, a one-time flatmate of Skye's in New York, can be seen juggling beer bottles in Volume 3._

_I picked up the latest edition out of curiosity, paying close attention to the "angels" during the bar scenes. In one back corner crouched on the floor and sipping from a demitasse while talking with a few other "angels" is an individual with matted black hair wearing what looks to be jeans and a light, hooded sweatshirt, his feet are bare. A mid-size pair of feathery white wings protrude from his back. _

Near suddenly looked down from the text, studying the painted buttons and circuits on one of his toy robots lying on the floor. He pulled his gaze back forward and returned his hands to the keyboard.

_I made a mental note of this, though such is a typical styling and the facial features were not as specific as those of the earlier paintings. _

_Today, Skye posted an update showing a larger image of the "angel." Beside it was the painting of L's illuminated profile._

_This is a direct cut-and-paste of the text that accompanied it:_

"_Feathers' Bar in the latest edition contains yet another real-life angel. He was a guy I spent some time with exactly seven years ago tonight, a stranger who became a close friend and proved to be an excellent model. I only knew him as Ben, so if anyone knows who he actually is please don't take offense to the images; they are meant purely as a tribute. I last heard from Ben over the phone on Halloween of 2003. Last year a visitor to the MOCA where I showed a few paintings of Ben, later approached me saying he knew him and told me that Ben is no longer with us; an aortic aneurism claimed him about a year after we met. Ben is among the rest of the angels now and I'm sure he's happy there."_

_This case is solved in my opinion. Mello and Matt were at the Museum of Contemporary Art as a guest of one of the three Mafia associates on the guest list, likely a draw for Mello as he was already somewhat of a fan. He and Matt saw the paintings, Matt taking the photos of them on his phone to keep a record. _

_Mello was the one who partially told Skye of the fate of the model, avoiding any mention of involvement by Kira, saying the cause of death was an aortic aneurism, a more "innocuous" heart condition compared to Kira's usual MO (perhaps a rare show of restraint on his part, or possible respect for L). This encounter could have occurred at the gallery or sometime later after Mello received Skye's business card._

_I won't even speculate on Mello or Matt's reactions to seeing those paintings, though it is clear the reactions were strong. Mello wanted me to find those pictures._

_I will not deny that this entire matter raises many more questions too numerous and varied to name individually. I believe that this was Mello's intention; what "you need this" was referring too._

_He specifically led me to these photos knowing what I would discover about them. This could have been a personal attack of some form; telling me, as he did in his account on the L.A.B.B Murders, that I did not know L as well as he did. It could have been a complicated equivalent of an insult; an "L got laid more than you ever will" statement perhaps or something along those lines._

_Perhaps he wanted to pass information about L that I would find offensive, whether to challenge my personal morals or insult me outright._

_I was more surprised at what I discovered than offended. I have no opinions on anyone's personal life or business and I was hardly shocked to learn he had an affair with a man he likely met in his travels._

_L's journal and a few other accounts have revealed that not only was L comfortably bisexual but frequently solicited male and female prostitutes and, on rare cases, used sex as an investigative playing card to gain information or trust._

_Compared to the personal histories of many individuals in his profession, L was conservative. Even the original Eraldo Coil and Denuve had sexual histories and fetishes infinitely more involved than anything L was known to do._

_How L got into that situation is not a mystery, though I am more than a little curious about how his image, which he guarded so carefully, could be captured by an artist especially in a painting of that nature. _

_The natural answer is Skye did the paintings from memory, remembering every detail on a man he had been intimate with during a period of a few days. However, upon closer examination of the paintings as well as the two known photos of L, there are too many exact details of his facial and body structure to look be solely from memory. The nose is the exact same shape with the same protrusions and angles as is the shape of the jaw. The scar on the side of the model also resembles the same type of incision L received to repair the internal damage sustained after being stabbed during an undercover investigation in November of 2002_

_Trevor Skye could possibly have a photographic artistic memory. I did send the photos of the paintings to an associate of mine with whom I have developed a small measure of trust known as Linda; a former student of Wammy's House who had achieved her own measure of artistic success. Linda told me remembering the exact details on a subject in this situation is possible, though exceedingly difficult. The probability is higher that Trevor Skye did a few sketches immediately after L left to keep the memory if such was the case._

_Linda's conclusion, however, was the probability was even greater that Skye did his sketches while directly in front of L and possible did a few sketches from a few different angles. This would mean L knew he was being sketched and did not mind._

_The other explanation, one that may seem less likely for L, was that he directly posed for any sketches, possibly the paintings themselves. _

_I do not believe this answer is entirely far-fetched. Yes L carefully guarded his image and protected himself first and foremost. L did, however, have a strong sense of self-confidence bleeding into arrogance as well as a pronounced reckless streak. _

_If caught in the right mood in a position like he was in with Trevor Skye, it is not hard to imagine him ripping his clothes off while giving the artist a long list of precautions and what was allowed and not allowed._

_Ultimately, trying to understand all of L's motivations and moves is a futile effort. Others have destroyed their lives trying to mimic or understand him and each individual will have his or her own interpretation based on whatever face L showed that person and he had many faces._

_He was many different individuals, though this is not a mental illness or a flaw of personality. It was merely how great he was. No one can say they knew him and that goes for himself. _

_Mello was right; he probably didn't know what name was written in the Death Note, the name that took his life. Liam Lawliet was written in every piece of official paperwork from his first arrival at Wammy's House, though the name "L Lawliet" was the one I saw written in the notebook once possessed by the Shinigami Rem. _

_His own mask became his true face, such is the moral of this tale; such is the ultimate lesson for his successor._

Near looked down from the screen, examining the plastic tracks of the train set that circled around him while twisting another lock of hair around his finger.

There was more to say; there had to have been more to say though the words were not coming to him.

He slowly stretched himself from the floor, coming to a stand and looking at the wide space around him. The glow of computer monitors reflected against the panoramic windows overlooking Lower Manhattan.

Rester and Gevanni were doing leg work on another case across town. Lidner was in Washington gathering some rumors from a few old CIA cohorts. Roger was in the next room, likely pouring over a large book he had recently purchased on prehistoric insects while waiting for any calls.

As arranged, Near was alone and on a two hour break from his casework to fully digest what he had written.

The past month was the official calm after the storm. Cleaning up after the Kira case was a massive project in itself all done in between setting up his own systems and connections as the new L (as well as cleaning out and analyzing everything L-Kira, a.k.a. Light Yagami, had done in the past five and a half years).

Everything was mostly settled by now; the true L had a full caseload as usual and managed to win back a strong measure of trust from world leaders and police authorities after the usurper was eliminated. There was still more work to do; there always would be more work to do though it was all part of the position.

Near walked over to a side window, his stocking feet gliding across the floor as he scooped up another robot and held it in one arm.

He leaned against the wall, looking out at the Empire State Building and seeing the corner of Rockefeller Center between a few other buildings. The city glowed under the darkness of late evening, giving off almost a calming hum.

This was the first moment of absolute quiet he had in years. Moments like this were the only times he could truly come to some understanding strong emotions he kept carefully tucked away most of the time; logic came first, emotions could be sorted out later though under recent circumstances he could not live by logic alone.

This was how he managed his grief after L's death; letting himself feel the loss for a few moments to get it out and find ways to use it to fuel his battle with Kira.

Now he needed that moment for two other people and this was the first time in four months he had that opportunity.

The images of their faces floated in his mind; the often tense memories from Wammy's House to every contact during the Kira case.

Mihael Keehl, age 20 of Munich, Germany; Mello: the number two to succeed L and Near's rival at Wammy's House, or rather his peer.

His burnt remains found in a package truck that had crashed in a church. It was likely Kiyomi Takada wrote his name on a page of the Death Note before Teru Mikami eliminated her with the fire. At least that's what Near hoped had happened.

Mail Jeevas, age 19 of Utica, New York; Matt: Mello's lackey though Near had formed some kind of understanding of him when they were kids.

He was gunned down by Takada's bodyguards following Mello's kidnapping of their queen.

Both were buried next to each other in the cemetery in Winchester a few blocks from Wammy's House. Their modest funeral was the last time Near had any moment to reflect before the long clean-up process.

He hadn't been to L's grave yet; a modest headstone in a small cemetery in Leduc, Alberta next to the grave of his parents. He would have to visit sometime soon.

Though that's what this entire side investigation had been about, hadn't it? That's what Mello's account, Matt's photos, L's journal, and Trevor Skye's blog all allowed for him.

Near pushed himself from the window, walking over to a desk on the side. His eyes fell on the two finger puppets that sat next to the computer he used most frequently; Mello's and L's plastic likenesses used mostly to illustrate the minutiae of the Kira case, though now they were his tributes.

He picked up both, sliding them gently over the tops of his first two fingers and pondered them for a moment.

They were gone, but he was here now; the ultimate survivor, the one to carry on. He was L now, though in the long run what did that mean?

The words sunk in at last.

He walked back to the laptop resting on the floor, a large letter L bouncing and rotating on the screen. Near moved the cursor and his words reappeared, his pale blue eyes looking over his last sentence.

_His own mask became his true face, such is the moral of this tale; such is the ultimate lesson for his successor._

He gently peeled off the puppets, putting them beside the laptop. His fingers were back on the keyboard as the words poured from him; the ultimate solution to this puzzle.

_Or at least that would be the simple conclusion, though L always left one more proverbial trick up his sleeve; one more surprise waiting, one more answer to the riddle. L never neglected a piece._

_I have spent the past three months pouring over the remainder of three lives cut short; three histories, three personalities, three different stories that converged. The one who ultimately succeeded L was the one who remained; the one left to hear the tales, the one left to learn, the one to move on with those lessons. _

_The greatest conclusion, the greatest message from all of this is to live. _

_My predecessor lived a short life, but a full one. He devoted his entire existence to solving cases, though still allowed himself life experience. Ultimately, however, he was the sum of his work and it wore on him to the very end. _

"_The Century's Greatest Detective," Mello wrote in his account on the LABB Murders; "how great must his burden be?"_

_The description continues and all accurate in my mind from his physical characteristics to those pained journal entries describing a period where he was a remorseful, suicidal individual, though in the end he accepted his ultimate role. _

_L Lawliet was indeed who he was in the end. He was not Liam Lawliet, the orphan trying to put up a nice façade for his family, and not L, the letter on a screen and the garbled voice over a computer. He was not the sum of any of his aliases either. His true, spiritual identity was a compromise of what his existence was; the true identity that ultimately took his life, ending the story._

_Now another is in his position, another story being written. _

_When the numbers above my head have counted down to zero or when they wiped away with whatever name is written in whatever notebook, what will be my story? Will it be of a man who stayed behind a computer for years with the shades drawn, dying alone? Will it be the story of a reckless adventurer who left a trail of chaos, wrongs righted, affairs, children, companions, and any manner of events in his wake? I suppose that story is mine to make._

_That I believe is the ultimate answer to this puzzle._

Near stared at the words for a moment, letting them sink in. At last he closed the file, putting up a layer of encryption on the new folder, before shutting down the laptop.

Several cases would demand his attention tonight. So would a blanket invitation from Linda to drop by her new apartment on Fifth Avenue for tea and a few DVD's, though as past events had proven that wouldn't be the only thing on the agenda.

Near twirled a lock of hair on his finger in contemplation. He then stood up and walked over to his computer, pressing the button to reach Roger.

"Watari I have a matter I must attend to across town," he said. "Please call a cab to pick me up at 77th Street."

------------

**June 1, 2010**

**Boston**

"Now entering Orient Heights," the electronic voice said overhead, matching the words on the LED screen at the top of the car.

The train gradually slowed with a screech as a mass of blue-tiled walls came into view on one side and a steel gate separating the platform from the street was visible on the other.

Trevor grabbed the metal bar next to him and came to a stand as the train slowly stopped with a shake.

"Now entering Orient Heights," the voice said again. "Next stop Suffolk Downs."

The doors opened with a ding, followed by a crackle on the radio.

"Attention passengers, there will be a five minute delay due a minor electrical problem at Suffolk Downs Station," the female conductor said through a heavy Southie accent. "Again there will be a five minute delay due a minor electrical problem at Suffolk Downs Station."

Trevor couldn't help but smile as he walked down the car to the open door. The human element contrasted with the electronic in that one moment, what would Ben have to say about that development?

He stepped onto the platform, walking past a few teenagers scrambling for their cell phones; his eyes went to the concrete platform, almost imagining a puddle of water from two rain-soaked men flinging water at each other. He could see Ben's hair even more spiked and wild, a smug smile on his face after shaking rain out on Trevor's jacket like a dog.

Trevor smiled, walking past the teens and to the stairs leading to the street. He had been at this station countless times since that night with barely a thought, though now he was a little more sentimental.

Being back in Boston for the first time in over a year definitely played a factor in this new sense; he was getting sentimental about many things he wanted to ignore seven years ago. Gallery showings, story consultations, managing inking and coloring, countless parties, and countless hours in New York studios demanded more of his time.

Now he was back over his old turf and it felt good.

He walked down a final set of stairs before pushing through the revolving metal door onto the street. The smell of car exhaust and sea water mixed in the night air over East Boston, a light breeze going over the short, dirty-blond hair he decided not to dye for the sake of all the older family members he promised to spend time with over the next week.

Dad was coming down tomorrow with his new wife Shelly who Trevor loved to pieces. He promised mom he would meet her and Ron in Portsmouth sometime this week; she hadn't been to the colonial houses at Strawberry Banke in years and Trevor wanted some new sketching material.

Jade's barbecue was Friday night at her and her husband's new house in Saugus; he longed to see how much Mike and Caitlin, his honorary niece and nephew, had grown in the past year. His actual nephews were with mom and dad at Disney World that week, their postcard arrived yesterday.

Things almost felt normal at this moment, though Trevor never liked normal. He was giving himself a month of quiet time at his newly-rented studio on Newberry Street before going back to New York and back to the business of his artistic life.

The smell of low tide reminded Trevor that he was a few blocks from his destination. All was quiet now, just like things were when they left the MFA in an awkward silence.

Ben had been on his mind quite a bit in the past few weeks. He had spent six years as a pleasant memory that would float through Trevor's mind once every few months. That memory had grown heavy in the past year, though ever since stepping on the platform at Airport Station four days ago it was like a ghost was looming over his shoulder.

It was the date; seven years to the day when Ben came into his life for that one weekend. The illustration in the latest edition of "Confessions" was a tribute, though something more was needed for himself.

The strip of empty blackness now appeared before him, the dark interrupted by the streetlights illuminating parts of Constitution Beach and Revere Beach a mile down. The weather was a little warmer, stars fighting past the streetlights on the horizon.

He waited for a few cars to continue down Route 1A before crossing the street and walking down the stairs to the beach, a small paper bag clutched in his hand.

The wind further blew the red Hawaiian shirt he wore over a gray tank top as his blue flip-flops landed on the sand. The beach was black, though he could make out the rocks and surf a hundred feet ahead.

No one was there save for the memory of two familiar figures making out in the rain. The memory gradually faded into the shadows of the rocks as he continued forward.

That same spot of rocks and sand was now under his feet, though he was alone. The breeze blew warm now, a carpet of seaweed leading to the lapping waves. Trevor paused for a moment, breathing in the salty air and savoring the whoosh of the waves mixed with the screeching roar of an airplane flying overhead.

He lowered his legs and came to a sit on the sand, resting against the same rock Ben leaned against seven years ago. He reached inside the paper bag, pulling out a large whoopie pie he picked up at a coffee shop downtown before getting on the subway.

A ton of his more spiritually minded friends and all the pagan shopkeepers in Salem would have gladly given him a dozen different candles, herbs, and mystical words for what he was about to do though he didn't need any of it.

Trevor took a deep breath to clear his mind, the words coming to him.

"I'm probably going to look like a nutcase for talking to myself, but I really don't care," he said, feeling a bit more comfortable. "But I'm not speaking to myself. Ben, I don't know your full name and I have no idea if you could care less, but I'm talking to you."

He could see a familiar smirk in his mind, gray eyes staring at him in bemused anticipation.

Trevor gradually broke the pastry in two, putting one side on his lap as his hands dug into the sand.

"I'll share my whoopie pie with you," he said. "Unfortunately it's not from Ethyl's Perks; they closed about three years ago, though I've had better religious experiences with the espresso from other places. Though you see God everyday now, don't you; at least that's what I hope."

He put the half of the pastry in the small hole, burying it and silently hoping no cops were passing by to see him "littering." He picked up his half of the whoopie pie, toasting it to the sky and taking a luxurious bite in silence.

"I know where you are now," Trevor said. "I met this guy about a year ago who called himself Mello, this leather-clad, blond, hot as hell guy. You probably remember him from when he was a kid, so that probably sounded really creepy, but he's grown up a lot. He told me you…umm…moved on. But he told me you didn't do so because you wanted to, or at least that's what I wanted to believe."

He licked off a bit of cream, feeling the back of his throat growing heavy.

"Things are better for me now," Trevor said. "I made it, my art is my day job and I couldn't be happier. I just hope that you were happy in the time after you left Boston. I just…"

The words caught in the back of his throat and he felt his eyes welling up.

"I just want you to know that I never forgot about you," Trevor said looking at the sky. "And I will never forget about you. Both of us are in new places and I'm going forward with my head high, and I thank you for helping me be able to do that."

Trevor took a deep breath, leaning against the rock and eating the rest of the pastry in silence. He looked forward, seeing the faded image of a man with wild black hair sitting in a crouch and delicately eating his half of the whoopie pie in his memory.

Though for some reason Ben was wearing a long sleeved white t-shirt and not the sweatshirt he saw him in all weekend. Maybe it was a trick of his memory.

Trevor finished the pastry, licking off a small patch of frosting from the corner of his mouth. For a second, he swore he felt a set of soft lips join with his. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling for a moment before it faded, leaving only a light sea breeze.

Trevor opened his eyes, seeing a mass of stars in the open horizon and smiled.

He took a second to ground his senses and clear his mind before standing, crumpling the paper bag in his hand and putting it in his jeans pocket.

Trevor gave one last look at the wide beach before him, before turning around and gradually walking back to the stairs.

THE END

Author's Note: This story was officially conceived on July 19, 2008 at Prescott Park in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. The Sunday night before I had finished Chapter 58 of Death Note and was inspired to write a short story based on it called "Moment of Silence." From then on I was a DN fanatic and thought of various ideas of other stories, including a chaptered story. The idea came to me at night beside the Piscataqua River with the song "The Night" by Disturbed playing in my head and images of L on a Boston subway and later making love to a young artist floated through. I started this story a few days later.

This story was originally intended as a one-shot, then it became three chapters, then more ideas took over the further I got into the series and immediately after reading "Another Note." The story itself has been an evolution of ideas with parts added on and inspired by various things.

This fic is also my love letter to the city of Boston, which I absolutely adore and try to get to as much as I can. I know some of the descriptions of the city are not entirely accurate, but I did the best and might gradually correct a few things. I also owe scenery inspiration to Portsmouth, York Beach, Maine, and the beaches of East Boston, which I have gone past with friends on numerous occasions.

"Another Note" was huge canon inspiration and I did get some ideas from the two Death Note movies (especially the scene in the gallery). Other sources of inspiration came from "Brokeback Mountain" and the 1998 Alfonso Cuaron remake of "Great Expectations" as well as the album "Viva la Vida" by Coldplay. "The Night" of course was the reoccurring theme and inspiration.

I would like to give my heartfelt thanks to everyone who has read and commented on this story on deviantArt and . When writing this, I gradually realized how risky it was to have an OC as a main character in the DN fandom and I tried my absolute best to make Trevor an interesting character and I appreciate every comment on how that turned out.

This was my first multi-chapter DN fic and I will do my best to make more. Once again thank you all.


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